


Madness of the Serpent

by Wolveria



Series: The Dragon and the Serpent [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Infinity Gems, Loki Angst, Loki Has Issues, Nonbinary Character, Other, POV Loki, POV Original Character, Poor Loki, Pre-Relationship, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 113,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolveria/pseuds/Wolveria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A celestial spirit finds itself trapped in a mortal body in the possession of a mad god. What chance does it have of salvation when the very stars quiver before his all-consuming wrath? (The Battle of New York from the perspective of Loki and his "creation.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Convergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting between two entities which will change their trajectories permanently.

Soaring through space. Gliding through nebulas. Dancing along the fringes of supernovas. Silently skirting the dangerous supermassive black holes. Teasing through the branches connecting the separate, layered dimensions of space and time.

Nothing between the star clusters but dark space. Nothing there, except the ones who frolic where no living thing can survive. They take the inhospitable places of the cosmos and make them their playgrounds. They travel between star systems as easily as living organisms know how to uptake atmospheric gas.

They are the wandering ones who are never lost. They are joyous, yet unalive. Energy without form, sentience without mind. They sing to the stars, ignorant of the bodies they have left behind.

So when the physical body appeared in the void, contorted and frozen in misery and anguish, they observed with interest that stopped short of curiosity. It was a fleshy creature gradually dying in agony, abandoned where even the starlight could not reach.

_Poor thing. Poor thing._

They clicked and chided in bursts of light. None would approach the creature too closely, unsettled by its solid mass, its fleshy entombment, its life's energy. Then they simply grew bored and drifted away, slipping between the folds of the universe to where they could swirl about the stars, the lost soul already forgotten from their simple thoughts and short-lived attentions.

But one took pity. A shroud of light which was not completely formless – ethereal but almost reptilian in silhouette. It approached the anguished being, gently floating and twisting around its frozen frame, not close enough to touch but daring to float nearer than the others.

The remaining wisps kept their distance from the suffering creature, their limited forms quivering with strands of flickering light, but this larger, brighter sprite immediately began to investigate the curiosity, its own form shifting through an entire spectrum of colors depending on its impulses and whims.

The frozen body was not completely without consciousness. The spirit noticed two small globules followed its glowing shape as it coiled and swirled around the fleshy thing. Its shape glowed brighter as it recognized sentience in the small globules – they were some kind of ocular organs with which to interpret visible light.

Ultimately useless in a place like this, where even the light of nebulas and supernovas could not traverse. What was an organism such as this doing here?

It did not know, but the creature communicated its anguish quite clearly with the emotions emanating from its being.

The spirit hesitated briefly, but was moved to action as it saw the body beginning to fail. Lungs deprived of air had long ago collapsed; the blood was almost frozen as the organs were encased in ice. This body was strong and unaffected by the cold of nothing-space, but it would not last much longer from the crushing pressure and leeching darkness. Not without aid.

The glowing shape slowly, gently, began to wrap itself tighter around the dying entity. The fleshy vessel was strong, but the spirit had to be careful not to break the bones or tear the skin from its muscles. Or worse, overwhelm its molecular bonds and break the body down at an atomic level. A being of pure energy coming into contact with a biology entity could easily become a fatal encounter.

It was prepared to end the poor being's life if it could not be saved, but the wandering spirit did not want it to die. Life was precious – if fleeting – and should be preserved whenever possible.

The creature fought to live with a ferocity that was unfamiliar to the gentle, glowing shape, and it was caught off-guard – having forgotten the desperate way life clung to its own form. It had long abandoned the notions of conflict and confrontation, of survival and self-preservation. They were obsolete relics for those who no longer had a body.

Witnessing these alien emotions now, in this failing but desperately struggling form, made the spirit all the more intrigued as to how the fleshy being had become adrift in the nothingness between the folds of the physical universe.

The shape slowly, very slowly, began to feed its own energy through the body of the being. Warming it, giving it life and halting its inevitable advance toward death. The body eagerly and hungrily accepted the proffered sustenance.

While the wandering spirit began to siphon its own energy into the floating being, it slowly drew it from the void and into the closest fold of the universe which was safest and farthest away from the black pits of light-eaters or the tumultuous birthing grounds of the solar bodies.

The energy being successfully pulled the lost body through a crease, bringing it to a space that was surprisingly crowded but seemingly uninhabited. There were floating asteroids and clustered meteoroids all around, pockmarked from violent collisions and devastating interplanetary impacts.

As the creature's oxygen-deprived brain began to form conscious thoughts that the glowing shape could easily perceive, it felt a surge of power throughout its form. The lost creature had an impressive well of energy and vitality, and its physical body possessed a strength that was no doubt useful anywhere but in the bleak emptiness of space.

The formless spirit now covered the entirety of the floating body, and it almost shrank back in shock at the sheer amount of psychological torment that cried out from its now-functioning brain.

Jealousy. Betrayal. Rage. Despair.

Powerful emotions psychically screamed through airless space, causing the spirit to ripple and flicker in alarm. It was almost enough to cause it flee to the safety of a nearby red star.

But it held on. It concentrated more of its energy on the psychic wounds of the being, attempting to comfort and soothe its mental torment. It wrapped the mind in warmth which would remind most living creatures of their time after formation but proceeding birth, such as in a womb or an egg. A time which was most similar to the state in which the glowing spirit existed.

Existence without physical awareness or pain. A perfect state of being.

The creature began to grow quieter, surrendering its struggle with surprising ease as the glowing being touched and cocooned its mind in protection and safety. It was attempting to share emotions which came natural to a pure being such as itself, but which it had never shared with another.

It attempted to replicate pleasurable feelings as it strived to bring solace and peace to the distressed creature. Love of the beauty of the cosmic universe, of the vibrant energy and light of the stars, of the deadly appeal of the darker reaches of space. Love of being completely free and unencumbered by the burdens and pain of physical existence.

The glowing shape realized the lost creature had entered a lower form of consciousness, only minimally aware of its surroundings. It watched in concern until it remembered this natural state of mind. It was… slumbering. At rest. Repairing its mind and body from the trauma inflicted upon it by the void and whatever had preceded it.

The glowing shape, a shimmering white which mimicked the stars around it, continued to observe the life form. It began to gently weave itself through the crevices and cracks of the creature's physical mind, inquisitive as to how it found itself so far from a habitable planet or vessel and in such a state of distress.

This was a miscalculation. The mind immediately began to resist against the intruder, repelling it with a violence it was unprepared to handle. The ethereal being pulled away, not wanting to harm or further upset the creature it was attempting to save.

The organ which housed its consciousness was too protected, too suspicious of unfamiliar consciousness. It would have to make a connection elsewhere.

The ethereal one floated throughout the body of the lost entity before finding what it sought. Near the upper center of the body, an organ which gave off an energy which resembled that of the glowing being.

Was this what it sought?

It reached out, and the two souls touched. Tentatively at first, and then merging as only two souls know how, one recognizing another as part of itself that was long missing. No barriers, no impediment, no separation of self. Just one joyous form of sentience finding another, joining together, becoming whole in a universe which was filled with mostly cold, empty darkness.

It would have been content to float there for time without end, sustaining the lost being's body and mind with its own vast energy, their souls joined and complete in a way that was impossible for physical bodies to ever attain. But it knew that was selfish, and ultimately unkind. It had left behind its body long ago, unable to remember even what it had once been. This lost being still had a physical form with a life that still needed to be lived.

They occupied different niches of the universe, and it was an oddity that they had even interacted. The living did not take notice of the ones who had passed on, and the ones who had left their forms behind did not bother with the fleeting lives of the fleshy things.

It should have ignored the adrift, dying creature. It should have passed it by like all the others. But it had not. _Could_ not resist the suffering and pain which was within its power to alleviate.

And now that it had pulled the entity back from the precipice of slipping to the other side, it had an obligation to remain present until it was sure it could survive under its own power, preferably in a habitable space. The creature had a home, presumably with others of its kind, and it needed to be able to return there.

Slowly, achingly, the ethereal being pulled itself apart from the other. It was more than pain, more than coldness that flowed through its consciousness. Those sensations should have been impossible for the bodiless. The absence of the other already filled it with longing and yearning which was too close to suffering.

And suffering was a task meant for the living.

The glowing spirit was now a pale blue as it continued to flow over the surface of the being, matching the shade of its azure skin. It had received some mental fragments from the merging – though not many, as souls tended not to regard memories as something of great import and often did not retain them once they shed their mortal coil.

It… no, he. The creature was part of a gendered species. He had come from a region called Asgard – a miniscule, flat planetoid which housed powerful beings on its surface. Originally, he had been birthed on the world of Jotunheim, and was of their kind – large, impressive beings that thrived on the frost and the ice.

The glowing shape was familiar with the floating mass of Asgard – it had once played inside the crystallized mountain along the underbelly of the celestial island, having found the energies within its crevices intriguing and enticing. It was also familiar with the frozen world of Jotunheim, though it had not explored its depths and had evaded its living residents. It tended to avoid planetary surfaces, as the overabundance of life energy was confusing and disorientating. It preferred the perfect chaos of space; the yawning emptiness was calm and silent, and the stars did not vary for billions of years at a time.

It would be easy enough to slip between the folds, hitch onto the stars and transport the Jotun-Asgardian and itself billions of light years with several leaps, back to the flat planetoid that the creature had once called home. Crossing vast distances of space was simple when one did not have to obey the rules of physical space.

It was about to make the first leap when it was violently jolted and yanked upwards, brutally jerked and dragged from the Jotun-Asgardian's body by an unknown force. It immediately released its hold on his form, concerned it would cause injury or destruction to the delicate flesh and bones.

With relief, the glowing spirit saw it had done no damage, but it gave a silent, formless wail as it felt another jolt ravage its core, its soft edges suddenly jagged and sharp with distress.

There were not many objects which could harm a consciousness without form or cause damage to energy without a physical body. But the object which was tethering the spirit in place was devastatingly powerful, contained in a circular sapphire light housed in a sleek, golden apparatus.

The creature holding the implement had a shifting, undulating aura of dark, malicious intent, a tainted light shining through its teeth. The ethereal being did see the creature in a single way, as it did not have ocular inputs, yet it could see the creature well enough by the energy reflecting from and emanating around it. And it was a thing of ugliness with psychic sharp edges and harsh, noxious colors.

The spirit being attempted to flee from the terrifying alien, but it was firmly rooted by the orb, which shimmered and emitted an aura that mimicked ancient starlight and cosmic energy. It had a terrible brightness that made the spirit want to obscure itself in the safety of the shadows.

The being began to coalesce into a more stable form, still ethereal and without mass or solidity, but now with a shape that felt familiar and intimate, though it did not know why this was so. It had a bestial, savage silhouette, with glowing scales and starlit fangs, its head reared and poised as its glittering wings spread wide.

The communication of threat was clear, if mostly for effect. The damage the energy being could cause would not be in the form of actual teeth and claws.

The creature seemed to know this. The being sensed malevolent resolve and the orb flashed, causing the ethereal shape to writhe and ripple in impossible pain, its incorporeal head thrown back in a silent cry of agony.

A foreboding thunder filled the air – a vibration which caused the spirit to retract and curl into a ball of light, attempting to pull against the orb in a futile act of desperation as it tried to make itself as small as possible.

The rumble was a pattern which the hideous creature responded to, its mouth opening and nonsensical vibrations were offered in return.

The vibrations caused the being it had rescued to stir; the Jotun-Asgardian had been awake for some time, watching with a quietness which bordered on deception.

But the creature holding the vicious weapon knew. It released the spirit, and its first instinct was to flee into the folds beneath the surface of this dimension. But it instead hid out of sight, seeping into one of the nearby rock formations as it took shelter in its solid mass.

It was safe for now, and an odd sensation gripped its core. It felt _fear_ – an emotion it had never known during its bodiless existence. Understandably, it had never known something which could cause it harm, but the glittering orb seemed to emit a silent danger that filled the spirit with abject dread.

The ethereal being watched as the Jotun-Asgardian was lifted into a vertical position by the hideous alien with the murky aura. It communicated something to him, and he responded in turn, his tone conveying lightness and levity. The spirit could not understand the sounds he was making, but the energy being could see his apprehension – emanating from his body in shifting auras of orange and amber.

A cry of pain, both audible and psychic, shattered the dark space. The menacing, chitin-covered beast gripped the head of the Jotun-Asgardian and caused him such extraordinary misery that the energy being cried out in silent unison, distressed on his behalf.

The torment continued for quite some time, punctuated by brief pauses of communication in which the hideous creature displayed its dissatisfaction by continuing to afflict the Jotun-Asgardian with dark hues of agony. The spirit was torn between fleeing, quivering in terror, or performing some action that would stop the horrible brutality being inflicted on his psyche.

The energy being remained paralyzed, torn with indecision until it could no longer endure the Jotun-Asgardian's cries. It abandoned the meteoric rock it had taken shelter in and flew at the hideous torturer, expanding the illusion of glowing jaws as it did so, rushing forward in a blaze of vibrant, furious colors.

Spearing through the torso of the tormentor, it caused the twisted alien to drop the Jotun-Asgardian as it burst through the other side, leaving a scorched circle on the surface of its pale, armored chest.

The creature hissed in ire, an ugly vibration which shimmered in violet as it cut through the air. The spirit had meant to conflagrate a hole clean through its body, but it must have expended most of its energy on reviving the dying Jotun-Asgardian – which may have turned out to be a futile gesture, considering their predicament.

The spirit then flared with a harsh amethyst light – ready to dive at the nasty one and continue to char and melt its physique until it was nothing but cinder. It felt greasy and violated having to pass through its deformed body, and it wondered what the creature had done to taint its own soul so thoroughly and completely.

But the energy being would tolerate the unpleasantness and scald the creature as many times as necessary. Anything to stop the cruel, monstrous agony it was causing to the lost soul it had rescued from the void.

A deep, ominous, patterned vibration stopped the energy being as it was about to strike, the edges of its light shivering in dread. The pattern was difficult to decipher without aural organs, but it seemed to be filled with a malicious amusement. The vibrations continued into a communication sequence, and though it could not decipher the meaning, it could perceive the vile intent.

A sudden agonizing jolt of intolerable pain as the sinister creature snatched it with the long, golden device, tethering its energy to the impossibly powerful orb – and this time the orb began to drag it down with a force that could not be denied.

The energy being was sucked into the potent crystallized light, helpless to stop its spiraling descent, the suction as irresistible and all-consuming as a cosmic singularity.

It did not vanish. It was still aware of its own existence, and therefore, still existed. But it could not move freely. It was… trapped. Confined. Barricaded inside the azure oval sphere.

And it was not alone.

 

* * *

 

Loki did not know how long he had floated, without direction, in the lightless, airless frozen abyss. Days? Months? Decades?

All he knew was that he was not dead – and even that at times was suspect. He supposed he had his Jotun heritage to curse that he had survived the bleak, inhospitable environment as well as he had.

It was taking him longer to die than he would have preferred.

At one point, he was _sure_ he was dead. Though he understood the paradoxical nature of that statement – if he knew he was dead, then he obviously was not. But he could no longer clear his thoughts, and his bored internal musings were becoming more and more irrational and senseless.

His brain was delirious from oxygen deprivation, and he was plagued by nightmares of his brother and father throwing him into the void when he had clearly done everything in his power to spare Asgard from a careless oaf ascending the throne.

And then Loki would dream he had thrown himself from the Bifrost into a wormhole created by the broken Rainbow Bridge. That he had tumbled and drifted for what felt like centuries, crushed by the absolute density of nothingness. Wanting to die and being unable.

He sometimes dreamed whatever had been left of the love for his family had been burnt away by the undeniable thirst for vengeance and murder. That he wanted nothing more than to see their corpses lying at his feet, their lives ended by his own hand.

They were horribly dark and evil nightmares, and he wanted to wake from them. He wanted to awaken in his own bed in the palace, having overslept again because of the way his racing, overactive mind prevented him from falling asleep until the early morning light. Or because he had stayed out all night with Thor and his friends, causing mischief and starting small-scale wars throughout the Nine Realms.

Loki would hear his boisterous, towheaded brother come crashing through the door, insisting that they had a long day of revelry or battles (or both) ahead of them.

But none of that happened. There was no Thor. No Father, no Mother. Not even Lady Stiff and the Idiots Three, who he would have been sorely glad to see at that moment. He would happily suffer Volstagg's teasing, Hogun's disapproving stares, Sif's sneers of derision, and Fandral's offhand jabs if it would make the crushing pain disappear.

Why had they not come for him? Why did they leave him to perish in slow, brutal agony? Why did he suffer alone in the dark nothingness? Had he fallen so far from Heimdall's sight that he could not be detected? Or did they simply no longer care what had befallen him?

Loki was left with only his desolate thoughts and the equally destitute stars – which he was clearly hallucinating, given that he had fallen into a wormhole from which there was no escape or respite.

The false stars stared down at him in apathetic silence, mocking him even in their nonexistence.

Except one star. It twinkled with an irregularity and a brightness which expanded into a glowing mass – vaguely serpentine and patterned with a rainbow of hues. Beautiful but decidedly alien, foreign in appearance and exotic with its undulating movements.

The strange spirit seemed to watch him, which was impossible, as it had no eyes with which to observe him. It began to circle him in a way that was either predatory or inquisitive, its intentions indecipherable by its lack of corporeality. Not that it would have mattered – his frigid muscles refused to obey him, rendering his body no more than an ineffective deadweight.

Loki began to accept the notion that his sanity had truly been lost – left behind on the shattered Rainbow Bridge – for him to imagine a glowing phantom had appeared to him and was watching him with some kind of curious awareness.

The glimmering shape had begun to slowly twist around his form, and now it completely covered his frozen body, encircling his skin which was now hard and blue from the cold dead of space, his Jotun features manifesting against his will. The only part of him able to move were his crimson irises, attempting to follow the spirit as it moved about him.

Loki waited for the hallucination to disappear, or for his brittle mind to fail, his body soon to follow. He waited for the sweet relief of death.

He waited, but it frustratingly never came.

A different sort of relief flowed through him, and he would have gasped if there was air with which to draw breath. Energy flowed through his body, his senses tingling as his blood and organs began to unfreeze, and then pleasurable warmth as the energy was fed directly into his cells, bypassing the need for oxygen to his lungs.

And then the true pain began. The realization, as his brain came awake, that his nightmares had all come to pass, and they were worse than he could have ever envisioned.

Loki had been cast out, abandoned, rejected by his not-father whose affection he had strived for even after discovering his true origins. That he had been born a monster, that he had been lied to his entire life, kept close at hand as another tool in the All-Father's diplomatic arsenal which he could one day wield then toss aside.

Even Thor, the brother he had loved with every fiber of his being, had turned his back to Loki. The golden and favored prince, now too virtuous for his flawed, tainted little brother. Suddenly having a crisis of conscience when he refused to allow Loki to eliminate the monstrous Frost Giants, he had actually _fought_ Loki in order to spare their miserable lives.

Thor had sought to protect real monsters over his own _brother_.

If there had been air with which to fill his lungs, he would have screamed. And screamed. He would have never stopped. Hysteria filled the cracks in his mind, threatening to shatter it in to a thousand pieces as his body responded in kind, his muscles tense as steel as he felt his anguish turn to icy malice.

_They will pay dearly for this treachery. I will not kill Odin. He deserves a much more creative and fitting end. I will take everything from the All-Father, everything he holds dear to his heart, and crush it into oblivion. I will turn his life's joy to dust, his ambitions to rot, and his throne? His throne will **burn** until nothing remains but charcoal and cold ash._

_This, I swear, on the House of Laufey, as well as my entire cursed line of monstrous ancestors._

Before Loki's agonized mind could turn murderous vows onto his mother and brother as well, a soothing mental balm covered his twisted thoughts and tortured emotions. It was then that he remembered he was not alone, and the glowing, mystery phantom was still with him, covering his body in a shimmering ethereal shroud.

_No, please. Don't,_ Loki silently pled. He could endure no longer. Everyone he had loved had betrayed and left him for dead. He could not stand the sentimentalities that exposed him to the cruelty of others. Of believing that someone was there at his side, wanting to ease his suffering. Extending a hand in companionship, only to yank it away at his greatest time of need. Even now, his family could seek him out and bring him home. But they did not.

They did not. And that told him everything he needed to know about trusting another living soul ever again.

Even this odd alien-being of light would grow bored of him and leave. He would not be able to take the crushing disappointment when it did, for it would mean he was truly forsaken.

He was of use to no one, and would have been better off dying, forgotten, in the void which was meant to be his grave.

Soon, even those thoughts faded away, and were replaced by feelings of dulled happiness, much in the way Loki had heard how certain drugs worked on Midgard. His fresh mental wounds and traumas seemed so distant and small. Insignificant. He was safe now. All would be well. Loki was not alone, and the little spirit somehow imprinted to him that it would not leave. He believed it.

He drifted in that eternal bliss, and would have been happy to float in that manner for eternity. For the first time in centuries, he was simply content and at peace.

Loki did not know how long he had slept, but he immediately knew when he was awake.

He knew, because he felt a piece of himself torn away and a bitter cold fill his heart in its place. If his lungs had not been empty of air, he would have cried in agony, begging the spirit not to leave him to die alone.

This was when Loki realized there was breathable air, and he gulped it in but did not scream. He slowed his breaths as he lay on his back, gravity pulling him down onto a solid, rough surface. He stared upwards through the slits of his eyes at the celestial being which had found him adrift in space.

Unlike the amorphous, vaguely reptilian silhouette it had claimed before, it now took a form which was unmistakably dragon-like. Loki could still see through its shape to the blinking stars on the other side, but its intentions were clear as it hovered protectively over him, threatening an unseen third party.

Its translucent tail seemed to be snagged on something, and Loki carefully adjusted his field of vision, trailing his eyes upward to view the whole scene.

A blind, pale, chitinous robed alien held a glowing sceptre in its double-thumbed hands, grinning menacingly at the ethereal dragon-like creature. The blue orb which seemed to have trapped its tail flashed a painfully bright glare, and the serpentine spirit writhed in silent but obvious discomfort.

**"THE LITTLE PRINCE HAS AWAKENED. TEND TO HIM."**

Loki shuddered visibly at the horrible words slicing through his head. They were not so much sounds as they were psychic bludgeons, violating his mind with their brutal and powerful intrusiveness. He could not identify the source of the booming, invasive voice, but the dragon-like spirit seemed to hear it as well. It abruptly collapsed into a ball of light, and he could have sworn it flickered in fear.

"Yes, my Lord," the robed alien replied, hissing and releasing the energy being, which promptly fled into a nearby meteoric stalagmite. Loki had a feeling it would not go far despite its mistreatment.

The Asgardian could not contemplate long about the welfare of the spirit as he was yanked to his feet, pale hands grasping at the front of his breastplate which was still slick with ice. Thankfully, his skin and eyes had returned to their previous Aesir state, sparing him that particular shame.

Loki disguised his discomfort at the too-many fingered hands by fixing his face into a stony expression, which had been very effective in the past when he and Thor would seek to avoid punishment from their… from Odin.

The involuntary recall of that memory was interrupted by the foul-breathed creature, his gnashing teeth exposed by the spreading of his lipless mouth.

"Loki Laufeyson. We have a proposition for you."

Loki kept quiet, his only reaction an involuntary curl of his lip at the use of that particularly undesirable surname.

He quickly fixed his face into a blank mask – he would give this vile creature nothing until he had some tiny sliver of knowledge about his current quandary. He could then begin to ply and exploit for leverage, until he could either gain advantage of the predicament he was in or slip away at the first opportune moment.

No matter how bleak his position seemed, no matter how weakened he had become, there was no transaction he could not bend to his advantage. He was in his element completely. No one yet lived who could outmaneuver him in a bargaining.

Who did this foul creature think he was dealing with?

"My Lord wishes for you to take an army of our Chitauri down to Earth. You will return an artifact to Him and have the privilege of ruling in His name." The creature's breath was even more fetid this close to his ugly mouth, and Loki did not bother to mask his repulsion as he wrinkled his nose.

"Well, I do not know if you have heard, but apparently instigating intergalactic wars does not agree with me."

Loki's sardonic smile was wiped clean as the hissing alien jerked his hand forward, faster than he could see, releasing his breastplate and grabbing his head roughly as a waterfall of splitting agony crashed through his skull. The pain which emanated from the alien's palm should have been impossible, and the orb of his weapon flared with seemingly dark delight.

Loki was suddenly glad for his solitude, as no one could hear the disgrace of his screams. Save Heimdall, perhaps. What did the Gatekeeper think of his situation now? Would he tell Mother or Thor? Or was he truly and completely alone, not worth the energy it would take to bring him home now that the Bifrost was destroyed?

If so, he may yet find the death he had earlier craved. The Norns were cruel indeed to now grant his wish when he no longer sought its cold, final embrace.

"You have a… peculiar way of asking for… favors," Loki managed to gasp once the pain began to ebb, his smile returning in a much shakier form. The pain had driven him to his knees without his realization, and his gasps for breath were much too loud in his own ears.

"You _presume_?" There was an angry hiss, and the grip on his forehead tightened. "That _He_ would need anything from _you_?" The creature seemed as offended as if Loki had insulted his entire line of ancestors.

"A proposition implies those involved seek something they do not possess, generally from other parties who are also lacking in something they desire. So… yes."

The next torrent of agony forced him to grit his teeth as he refused to give the creature the satisfaction of his cries. Cold sweat broke out across his skin, the agony stopping for one blissful moment as the alien continued to pontificate about his so-called lord.

"Your insolence is crude, and your words have all the wisdom of a fool. It is a privilege and an honor for you to feel even His displeasure," the alien seethed, before another white-hot rod of pain stabbed down the center of Loki's forehead, bright and nauseating in its intensity as it left him nearly breathless.

"You must be… new to this. Let me explain in terms even _you_ can understand." Loki gasped for air while smiling coldly at the creature with all of the contempt he could muster – which was a considerable amount.

"You present your proposition, I present a counter-offer, and we negotiate like two civilized-"

The pain piercing through his skull was so intense that Loki was certain he had lost consciousness for at least several seconds. The world had receded in a grey fog, and now it slowly crept back into his senses, a high-pitched whine in his ears as the stars remained blurred before his eyes.

A low chuckle filled his ears, air wheezing past teeth both sharp and decaying.

"We seem to be having a… misunderstanding. There _is_ no negotiation." Loki grunted as the blade of the sceptre slipped under his jaw, the flat side of the blade forcing his head upwards as the alien released his forehead, his eyes having nowhere else to look but into the creature's partially obscured pale face.

" _We_ command. _You_ obey. If you disobey, you are punished. We will bend your mind to our designs. If you resist, we will break and we will remold you. And we will repeat, until we have your complete and utter _obedience_."

The creature grinned with a malicious evil that Loki would have found quite impressive if it had not been directed at him.

"I am sure those are terms even _you_ can understand."

The grin slowly faded from the alien's face, replaced by a snarling grimace as it slapped the flat of the sceptre's blade against Loki's temple.

The fallen prince began then to truly scream. All that had proceeded before was laughable compared to the experience which held him in its thrall now. His skin was on fire, his bones were molten lava, his throat tearing from his ragged screams, and his muscles were wires of unbridled electricity. He would have begged for death if the torture had not been abruptly, mercifully halted.

The hideous alien gave a strangled cry and broke the contact the blade had against Loki's temple, causing him to fall on his side against the barren ground, the strength sapped from his limbs as his muscles trembled violently.

The demigod looked skywards, gasping for each breath in his seared lungs as he saw the glowing spirit poised to strike, resuming its purple dragon-like shape and looking exceedingly cross – if such a thing was possible for a creature without a face or a body.

He had thought spirits were supposed to be whimsical, carefree, and barely perceptible to those in the physical realms. This one seemed to have an extraordinary amount of gumption.

Or it was suicidal. Given the situation, either option was equally applicable.

Loki gave a small grin as he saw the burnt circle on the alien's pale chest. It seemed his little guardian phantom was not so toothless after all.

His smile faded as the booming voice filled his head again, this time in the form of macabre, bowel-loosening mirth. It was less like laughter and more like a vibration filling the air with animosity and malevolent humor.

Loki had believed the Jotuns to be true monsters. He had been gravely mistaken. This unknown entity was pure nightmare merely from the timbre of his voice, and Loki was immediately certain his ethereal rescuer was about to meet a most horrible end.

He was not wrong.

**"AMUSING LITTLE SHADOW. BUT WE HAVE _SO_ MUCH TO DISCUSS WITH OUR NEW… ALLY."**

The next words to come from the godly, unknown entity made the Asgardian's stomach clench with dread.

**"GET RID OF IT."**

Loki watched in helpless despondency as the orb in the sceptre flared to life, the alien holding the weapon above its head as it dragged the spirit down into its ravenous, sickly light.

The phantom fought valiantly, flaring its translucent webbed wings and attempting to battle against the inevitable current, its glowing jaws open in silent roars of defiance. Despite its indomitable will to resist its fate, it eventually succumbed to the pull of the sceptre.

In a flash of painful blue, the cosmic entity was gone.

Loki felt true pity for it. It had aided him with no promise of a reward or boon, and now it was most likely destroyed due to its interference on his behalf.

Within the next few seconds, he felt more pity for himself. Loki's screams of crystal sharp agony echoed through the dark chasms of the floating rock and through the vast reaches of starlit space.

No one heard his cries. And even if they had, none would have cared.


	2. A Celestial Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An act of desperation and creation.

It quaked in terror as it shriveled down into a pinpoint of light, attempting to make its energy as insignificant as possible so as to be unnoticed by the colossal consciousness which loomed over it.

To claim it was massive would be an understatement. To claim it was omnipotent and overwhelming would be closer in accuracy, but still far from the truth. It was _everywhere_ , and it watched the spirit with passive curiosity, acknowledging its existence, but disinterested as to how it got there and why.

Several tense, unknown ticks of time passed, and the spirit relaxed from a mote of light into a miniscule ball of energy. The titan mind was still present and watchful, but did not behave in a threatening manner. It did not do much of anything except observe, its colossal presence as ominous as a gaseous nebula storm.

The spirit supposed it should have been grateful that the massive consciousness had not decided to obliterate the insignificant being. Or maybe it would, and was just waiting. The spirit did not know, and it trembled in fearful anticipation of its unknown fate.

A living organism could only know the fear of its life ending. That was nothing compared to the terror a spirit could feel when its soul was in danger – and there were not many objects in the universe which could cause such clear vulnerability to beings of pure energy.

The godlike mind-jewel was one such threat. A sparkling, golden gem hidden within the confines of the orb – it was the source of the sceptre's power, and it held within it a mind so vast that the shade used every ounce of willpower it possessed not to simply vanish in its massive presence.

It did not know how long it remained in that state, paralyzed in fear of the massive mind, but also desiring to explore its confinement. It was completely isolated from the universe – from the concepts of time and space. It was unknown if the Jotun-Asgardian still lived, or if millennia had passed. All it knew was it was trapped with an unknowable, incomprehensible entity, and there was no apparent route of escape.

Fortunately for the spirit, the enigmatical mind-entity had rapidly lost interest and began to ignore the shade altogether. It seemed to be fascinated and entertained by the workings of its own mind, and the shade began to ignore it as well, instead focusing its concentration on how it would escape its new prison – preferably without releasing the infinitely vast mind.

The golden gem did not seem overtly malicious or malevolent, but it did not emit a sensation of good-will and altruism either. It exuded auras of calculating and ruthless complexities, emotionless and infinitely expansive musings and introspection.

The spirit preferred not to unleash such an entity if it was avoidable.

Forced confinement in a physical space was extremely disturbing for a being which was accustomed to unhindered movement accompanied by infinite possibilities of exploration. If it wished to be elsewhere, it took little effort to travel along the light of stars and arrive at its destination nearly instantaneously. It could slip between the permeable barriers of the universe if it so wished – neither solid mass nor gaseous clouds could impede its progress.

Its frustration at being hemmed in by the strange, glowing azure material was inevitable – if pointless. The unknown encasement must have been immeasurably durable if it could trap the mind-jewel, let alone a wandering spirit. No matter how fiercely it flung its energy at the barrier, no matter how it tried to chisel away at the impediment with bursts of scorching light, it made neither dent nor mark.

So it waited. And waited. It waited in bright nothingness, always mindful of the thinking, calculating jewel, but now more concerned that it would be trapped in this oblivion for eternity.

The longer the spirit lingered in its prison, the more it began to fret over the welfare of the Jotun-Asgardian. When it had been taken from his presence, he had not been left in an encouraging state. It could still recall his cries of distress, his mental anguish coloring the empty spaces of the air with a harsh, bright hue.

The source of his misery had not been the foul creature itself, exactly, but the power of the mind-jewel with which it was trapped. The jewel was able to somehow inflict impressive amounts of pain without causing any physical damage, which may have explained why the spirit had been vulnerable to its brutal intentions.

Is this was the case, why did the massive mind not cause it harm now? Why had it not been destroyed?

What had happened to the Jotun-Asgardian in its absence?

Its thoughts began to spiral into deeper and darker depths, its psyche suffering first from alarm, then concern, then despair as it realized it had left him in the possession of a creature that would most likely cause him suffering and bodily harm before extinguishing his life.

Just as it began to contemplate the benefits of self-destruction in the form of losing itself to the powerful draw of the mind-jewel, there was a shift in the integrity of the azure walls of the orb.

There was another powerful artifact nearby – similar to the golden jewel – but with a unique energy emission that vibrated slightly out of sync with the surrounding space. The two were becoming linked across the multiple folds of the universe through a circular tear that had formed nearby. Their bond was more than an energy-based connection – it was practically sentient. Recognition, familiarity, yearning to be joined together, as if they were quantum entangled companion objects.

The spirit would have curiously watched the pair of unique objects and their fascinating affinity for each other if it had not been so concerned for its own liberation. And then it glimpsed through the connection to the outside universe and found its situation was even more dire than anticipated.

Around the brilliant shimmering portal forming on the surface of the meteoric rock were hundreds of thousands of restless aliens, fidgeting and twitching in impatience, watching hungrily as a lone figure holding the golden apparatus waited to step through the tear in space.

The spirit shivered, a rainbow of colors running through its form as it realized it knew the identity of the wielder. The Jotun-Asgardian was barely recognizable in the way that the spirit was able to observe him. His psyche had been shattered and carelessly reassembled – his soul twisted and darkened with streaks of raging black coloring his mind.

What had occurred since it had been trapped in the orb? How much time had passed? What horrors had they visited upon him?

Whatever their methodologies, his tormentors had been exceedingly thorough. He stepped eagerly into the glowing portal, and they were instantly transported across the universe through the artificially-induced opening. Normally, such a colossal leap across space would have been enjoyable and entertaining to the spirit, but these were not joyous circumstances, and it trembled in turmoil and distress.

And then the spirit saw it – an opportunity for escape. If it was quick and clever, it could possibly ride along the connection between the two energy sources and flee into the surrounding area, simply vanishing from physical space. If it was swift enough, the light it released from its energetic form would not even register in the physical world. It could go back to the stars and be safe in the obscurity and vastness of the never-ending darkness.

But then it realized the portal was not closing. The massive army of frightening creatures was preparing to follow the broken Jotun-Asgardian through the circular tear. Their battle-lust and thirst for wanton destruction was palpable as they chittered in eagerness, their auras glowing with a dull, violet light.

The spirit could not just leave the situation as it was. It had to act – perhaps interrupt the transportation of the unknown creatures, prevent them from following the Jotun-Asgardian. The aliens were unfamiliar to the spirit, who had come across a vast number of species and races during its exploration of the physical planes of the universe. These hive-mind beasts were not from the planetoid of Asgard, nor were they from the frozen valleys of Jotunheim. They were unknown but volatile, their vicious instincts basic and their minds connected and simplistic.

It did not know the Jotun-Asgardian's intentions, but it could plainly see theirs. Any creature unfortunate enough to cross their path would be violently ripped to pieces.

The spirit believed it knew a way to prevent their entrance, but it would lose its chance – its opportunity to flee to the stars and forget it had ever stumbled upon the Jotun-Asgardian. It owed him no allegiance and no debt; it would be completely free and unfettered to abandon him to his fate.

There was no choice to make.

As the spirit was about to transport itself from the azure orb to the outer environment using the connection stemming from the mind-jewel, it was ensnared by the massive mind. Long tendrils of golden energy wrapped around the spirit like a predatory beast around its prey. It struggled to free itself from its psychic grasp, flashing in alarmed colors of red-purple as it fought with every facet of its soul.

The mind-jewel – perhaps unaccustomed to direct confrontation – slightly slackened its hold around the writhing sprite. Struggling to liberate itself from the powerful thought tendrils, it stretched towards the sliver of freedom, which the mind-jewel reacted to by clamping down securely on the energy being.

In an act of pure desperation, the spirit wrenched itself in two – leaving behind the part of itself that could not break free of the mind-jewel. It sent most of its energy through the connection, seizing onto the undulating edges of the spherical gateway.

Without any hesitation, the spirit overloaded the edges of the portal, exploding the remaining energies into a fantastical aura of fiery blue light.

Straining with all of its focus and willpower, ignoring the abandoned part of itself still trapped in the orb, the spirit directed the unstable energy of the collapsed portal upwards, hoping to contain the volatility away from the dark outline of the kneeling Jotun-Asgardian, preferably into the emptiness of space.

Its progress was halted by a solid ceiling, and the spirit realized with growing panic that it was in some type of structure – possibly on a planetary surface or in a space vessel. It could not force the collapsed energies through the stone.

Holding on to the erratic energy as fiercely as it could – forcing it into a compact ball of fiery energy – the spirit observed from above as the Jotun-Asgardian attacked other physical beings. It was helpless to act, already doing everything in its power to keep the portal from decimating the organisms within the blast radius. It watched in sorrow, as the lost being it had saved extinguished their life energies one by one. Oddly, he spared the lives of some. For those few, he filled their bodies and minds with the tendrils of the mind-jewel, and they obediently followed his damaged form as they departed. The Jotun-Asgardian did not spare even a glance towards the spirit as it held the collapsing portal energy in its grasp.

The spirit knew its time was nearly finished. The collapsed portal was reaching untenable energy levels, and the limited part of itself inside of the orb would not survive the devastating soul-shattering that was about to occur. And even if it did survive, there was no guarantee the mind-jewel would not simply crush it into oblivion for its rebellious actions.

The spirit held onto the pulsing ball of energy as long as it was able, giving the Jotun-Asgardian enough time to escape, along with the other creatures with the disturbing golden auras. The energy writhed and throbbed under its weakening gasp, twisting and pulsing as if it were a living thing straining to break free of the spirit's bindings.

It could no longer hold. The spirit surrendered, its split-consciousness obliterated in the devastating explosion which followed, the part of itself remaining in the orb beginning to flicker and fade in the grip of the titan mind-jewel.

The spirit had done what it could to aid the Jotun-Asgardian and stop the dangerous beasts from following him. But it was not enough. It had wanted to do more, _needed_ to do more, believing it still had an obligation to return the lost being to his home. But it simply had nothing left to give.

When it had all but winked out of existence, the spirit was made aware of the presence of the massive mind-jewel. It had been watching the events transpire with vague interest. There was no anger or hatred at the sabotage the spirit had caused. No intentions of punishment for its misdeeds. Instead, the omnipotent mind seized tighter onto the fading spirit, holding what remained, not allowing it to vanish in its boundless, undeniable grip.

The spirit was unsure as to whether it should be pleased or dismayed. Most of its energy had been destroyed, and there was barely any of its own consciousness left. But it grasped on to the presence of the mind-jewel. Despite the absence of flesh and blood and bone, the spirit clung to its existence as desperately as any dying creature with a physical form.

 

* * *

 

The Mind Stone observed. Calculating, re-calculating, and documenting. Unique objects demanded its attention, and the energy being fit this category. It had a mind without a body, much like itself. It had fought against the Mind Stone with a tenacity that was unanticipated and miscalculated. It was uncommon to observe an entity which was able to manipulate the compelling energies of the Stones, as this one had done when it interrupted the synchronicity of the Space Stone's aperture.

It was rare to find an energy entity with such abilities. Rarer still that it had used its capabilities to risk its own integrity.

The Mind Stone wanted to know _why_. Why it attempted self-sacrifice. Why it acted in an irrational manner for an illogical conclusion. It did not understand. Nothing was beyond its comprehension, and yet… it remained puzzled.

It had to discern the reasons for the entity's incongruous behavior. A simple field trial would suffice.

Unique. Singular. It was best to preserve the being. And see what it would do.

 

* * *

 

Loki brooded in silence, alone. Once the new minions Agent Barton, Dr. Selvig, and the various other mortals had settled into their dilapidated and moldy headquarters, he had sought solitude. He needed to think, and being around tiny, insignificant mortals had a way of distracting his complicated and nuanced thoughts.

He was reluctant to call them an army. They were a feeble, pathetic lot – SHIELD enemies who could see no further than their own avarice and selfishness, but he had no other recourse after the unforeseeable collapse of the portal.

Once, he had been driven by petty rivalries and a pitiful desire to please those whose attention he had craved. But no longer. The Tesseract had shown him a brighter path. The celestial cube had revealed unending power and unimaginable beauty to him. It had shown him ruling Midgard as a beloved god. The corrupt, weak humans of Earth would worship him, freed of the burden and pain of decision-making and disappointment that were the only gifts bestowed by their so-called "freedom".

There would be a better world under his rule. He would be a capable leader, fit for any throne on any world, despite what his… what the All-Father believed.

Loki would be firm, yes, but he would be fair.

There would be no more human wars. No more famine. No more deaths from preventable diseases or from lack of basic necessities such as water and shelter.

No more genocide.

Well… apart from the initial carnage and purging of resistance and rebellions, but that was an unfortunate, necessary step. And who could blame him if he took pleasure in the joys of conquest and invasion? It was something the humans themselves had done their entire history, was it not?

Loki planned to end the destruction of Earth from the mortals who lived upon it – destruction which had already begun long before his arrival. The atmosphere had already begun to change in a way which would prove cataclysmic in the short span of a few decades. The suicidal humans burned through their natural resources as if they owned ten planets, instead of the one unique one they had thoroughly pillaged and squandered.

Loki was going to save the mortals from themselves. Who could argue with such a plan and still consider themselves on the side of morality and righteousness?

It had taken long – much too long – for him to understand the task he was destined to fulfill. His allies had shown him the correct path, and he was eternally grateful the Tesseract had opened his eyes to the wondrous purpose which awaited him.

But for now, he needed to think. Loki was no fool. His new allies would not be lenient with his failure of maintaining a stable portal for the wave of Chitauri foot soldiers – only the first of many such breaches which were destined to open across the planet.

They would punish him. They would take his failure as a sign that he was unworthy. _Always_ unworthy. No matter how valiant his efforts or how carefully constructed his plans.

Loki understood that the Other and his Master would not be as benevolent as he, even when he succeeded in opening a stable portal. The alien shock troops and the flying leviathans would obey him, true, but to what extent? And for how long? He was not so naïve as to believe that while Thanos ruled over the rest of the universe, he would allow Loki to lord over Midgard as he saw fit. What if the Chitauri's Master was displeased with his authority over the mortals, or simply wanted one of his own minions to rule in his stead?

The mortal scientist was setting up the machine which would house the Tesseract, causing a new portal to form and hold open a stable wormhole. The human had already been in possession of the machine as he and his colleagues had attempted – amusingly – to replicate the function of the Bifrost and find their way to Asgard. As if the All-Father, in all his platitudes about the value of the Midgardians, would allow any of their ilk into the Realm Eternal.

But creating a stable portal was not the only purpose the machine would serve.

Loki needed a backup plan. He would not be who he was if he did not devise plots inside of plots, and this situation would be no different. He trusted the clairvoyance and vision of the Tesseract, but he did not entirely trust the Other or the one he represented. He made it a rule to trust no one – not since his fall from grace on the bridge of Rainbows.

This was not something the Tesseract had shown him, but the idea had been created in his own clever mind. And that was enough.

"The housing for the sceptre has been completed, and all of the equations you provided have been input exactly as you specified," a raw, Swedish-accented voice spoke from behind.

"Good. We shall begin immediately." Loki rose to his feet, attempting to hide the wince that played across his pale face even though his back was to the mortal. His body creaked and ached from the persuasion that his allies had visited upon him when he had stubbornly refused to embrace his destiny.

"Are you sure about this? We have no idea what, specifically, may happen. We still don't have the materials necessary to stabilize the cube-"

"You question my decision, doctor?" Loki smiled, his tone as soft and smooth as a wolf's pelt. One which was still attached to the wolf.

"No, no, of course not," the Dr. Selvig said, smiling nervously as his unnaturally blue eyes fixated on the floor. A gift bestowed by the mind-altering sceptre which Loki had wielded to devastating effect earlier in the underground SHIELD compound. It had been surprisingly easy, taking two of the most useful mortals from SHIELD and making them his favored slaves.

"Then do not waste my time with baseless concerns and test my patience with pointless misgivings." Loki's smile curled into something unpleasant and sharp, and the scientist paled at his presumption and error.

Loki could not deny the enjoyment he derived from dominating and frightening this particular mortal. The doctor had become a close companion of Thor's during his oh-so terrible banishment to Earth, and it filled him with endless happiness that he now held the human within his grasp.

Oh, but how _sweet_ it would have been if the woman had been there instead. If Jane Foster had been summoned to consult on the Tesseract instead of the old man. How delicious would it have been to hold the woman of Thor's heart under his thrall, forcing her to participate in the destruction of the planet his brother loved so dearly?

Alas, the Norns had decided to spare that encounter for another time. Because there was no doubt in Loki's mind – he _would_ find Jane Foster. And he would break his brother's spirit, just as his had been shattered by the betrayal of his not-family.

But before that happened, he needed this Dr. Selvig for a while longer and at peak performance. As much as Loki enjoyed tormenting the human, he understood perfectly well that words of encouragement could be just as effective as threats of endless suffering.

"You are clever for a mortal, doctor. Director Fury had every confidence in you to unlock the potential of the Tesseract, and I shall endeavor to do the same."

The human relaxed his shoulders imperceptibly, but he was still pale and sweaty with fear. As he should have been.

"Of-of course, sir. We'll get started, right away. If y-you come this way, please." The primitive scientist all but tripped over himself to return to the makeshift lab, staying well ahead of Loki, who followed with a slow confident step that hid his various and still-mending injuries.

They would heal soon enough, and he could never show weakness. Never. Not even in front of his mind-controlled militia. He was a magnificent god who would soon have a kingdom to match.

It was just taking longer than he would have hoped.

Loki was pleased to see his mind-slaves acted as a well-oiled machine, never tiring or slowing or bickering as they worked on the device or patrolled the corridors of the abandoned system of tunnels. He had been correct to enslave Agent Barton – the man had found the useful underground refuge almost immediately after their escape.

It was not the most dignified lair for a deity, but it would suffice. SHIELD was still recovering from the devastation he had wrought in the underground complex, giving Loki the time he needed to spawn another portal.

"This… is it?" the Asgardian inquired, looking doubtfully at the oval opening formed on top of the metallic machine which housed the Tesseract, only partially complete.

"Yes, sir. All you need to do is insert the sceptre, blade down, when I give the word." The doctor had recovered from his earlier fright, his enslaved mind already obsessed with the glory that was the Tesseract. Loki could not fault him for his fixation on the wondrous artifact. He, too, found its glowing exterior distracting and tantalizing, hinting at the true power which lay deep inside.

The Asgardian held the sceptre's blade above the machine, waiting for the mortal's signal.

He would never admit it to the insignificant mortals, but he was exhilarated. Combining the raw power of the Tesseract with the sharp focus of the sceptre would hopefully bring his plan to fruition. If not, it would – at the very least – cause something fascinating to occur.

And if they were destroyed in a glorious explosion of cosmic energy, at least he would no longer have to worry about displeasing Thanos.

"Now!" the scientist said, his own face as hungry as Loki's to see what would transpire once the might of the sceptre and the Tesseract were combined.

Loki thrust the sceptre downward, his teeth gritted and bared as a broken piece of rib moved somewhere deep inside, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead from the nauseating pain.

The blade re-appeared below the metal housing, sliding past the Tesseract with only centimeters to spare. The blue orb lightly grazed the equally blue cube and Loki felt a surge of power flow through his palms, knocking him backwards.

It was out of his hands – quite literally – as the two artifacts began to thrum loudly in unison.

"Do you see it?" the trickster god demanded of the scientist. His sweat-slicked face watched the Tesseract intently as it and the orb both glowed brighter and brighter, filling the air with a humming that made his chest vibrate and his fingertips tingle, his physical injuries already forgotten.

"I see… something. Two energy signatures," the doctor replied, his frosty eyes focused on the computer screen. The assassin Barton stood behind him, and Loki would have been impressed the mortal had escaped his notice if he had not been so preoccupied.

"One of them is absolutely massive. Its energy readings are off the charts! It's… my God… it may be as powerful as the Tesseract itself!"

"Ignore it," Loki instructed the awe-struck scientist. "Focus the Tesseract's power on the weaker entity. _All_ of its power that you can muster."

"It's… barely registering. The amount of energy it will take to do what you are asking is-"

" _Just do it!_ " Loki snapped, momentarily feeling his composure slip as the broken rib in his side began to throb, declaring its presence at the Asgardian's sharp intake of breath.

He would not fail, not a second time. He _would_ succeed. Anything less would be the beginning of his end.

"Yes, sir," Dr. Selvig replied, his already pale features growing paler at glimpsing the feverish rage which filled the god, always brimming beneath the deceptively calm surface.

Loki smoothed his raven-locks from his sweaty forehead before attempting to quell the anger within – already a losing battle. Instead, he focused his pale blue eyes on the Tesseract and sceptre. Their powerful hums had reached an almost painful pitch, haunting in their harmony, the metal housing for the cube vibrating in an alarming fashion.

_If the device comes apart before I succeed, I will cut off the Selvig's least important appendages one by one_ , Loki thought with a small smile, improving his mood regarding the less than ideal situation he had found himself in.

The two artifacts soon reached a level of vibration that made even the stone floor rumble under his boots. Just when Loki was positive the machine would come apart – along with the entire tunnel system – a blinding blue stream of energy blasted straight from the Tesseract, flowing through the sceptre and using it as a focal point as the light formed an unstable, amorphous shape a few feet from the machine. With a loud pop, sparks of energy began to ricochet around the dank, tiled room.

"Use the sceptre to focus the energy!" Loki snapped, his teeth clenched and his jaw taut as he glared at the scientist who was frantically working the various inputs of the computing machine.

"I'm trying! It is highly unstable!"

Loki covered the short distance in a flash, his voice low and deadly in the mortal's ear.

" _Try harder_ , mortal. Do not lose hold of that energy signature," the deity hissed through his teeth, the sweat on his brow betraying the fear which was beginning to creep up his spine. "Or you will lose the parts of yourself that are unnecessary for the _one_ task I have set before you."

The mortal looked as if he was going to be ill, or possibly faint in terror, and the fallen prince felt nothing but icy dread. He could not fail. The importance of this task had grown in his mind beyond that of a contingency plan. Loki could not pinpoint how he had come to this conclusion, but he intrinsically understood this task was going to be monumentally significant – maybe as equally important as wielding the Tesseract itself.

"Sir, look," Agent Barton said with a calm demeanor, jerking his chin in the direction of the glowing, shifting mass. It appeared to have grown more stable – as was the light beam which was focused from the sceptre's bright orb. Sparks and jets of plasma energy were no longer shooting from the glowing form, and as Loki watched, it began to coalesce before his eyes.

The light beam began to taper off, and the radiant silhouette began to fade as a cohesive outline took its place, luminescent smoke floating from its surface.

The sceptre and the Tesseract both dimmed their luminosity, as if what had just occurred had consumed most of their power – which it may well have done. This did not concern Loki, as he understood the Tesseract and the sceptre had unending power which could never fully be depleted.

But the glowing mass on the ground – that _did_ concern him.

"It… it is done. The entity has been extracted and reconstituted with 100% integrity," the doctor said in hushed wonder as he approached from Loki's right side. Barton stood at his left, staring down at the figure with glowing azure eyes, showing mild interest and a raised eyebrow.

The glowing smoke cleared, and they could see the object clearly at their feet.

A naked mortal woman, soaking wet and curled into a fetal position, long inky black hair sticking to her shoulders and back. She was devastatingly… human.

The long silence was broken by Dr. Selvig's confused voice.

"I thought it would be… bigger."


	3. In the Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spirit is not happy with its new predicament, and Loki could not be more delighted.

Brightness. Cold. Pain. Exposure. Tangled in appendages. Weighed down. Need to escape. Fly!

Pressure. Gravity. Atmosphere. Why was it so cold?

Noises. Shapes. Temperatures. All separate senses. Why? What was wrong? Why could it not fly? Where were the stars?

Panic blossoming in its… torso. A chest. Limbs. Nerves. Muscles. Bone. Flesh!

Trapped in flesh! Nowhere to go!

No air! Searing fire in its chest, muscle spasms as it spewed up cold liquid. Desperate to fill its lungs, gagging to clear its airways.

Sweet life-giving air. Breathe in, breathe out. Repeating until it no longer felt the panic of suffocation.

It held its limbs together as tightly as possible, quivering all over.

Breathing hard and fast. Fear, so much fear. A tight sensation in the torso, a thudding noise in the chest. Limbs shaking in distress.

Too much, too much!

Was it dying? It had to be dying. Nothing but the act of dying could feel this abhorrent.

Touch. Warm, on its… what was it? Shoulder. Skin over bone. Dermis touching dermis. What was it?

Open the eyes. Two ocular lenses which moved together, not independently. Could only focus in one direction at a time. Focus. Focus on the shapes.

A familiar shape. A face. It was a face. How did it know a face? It remembered faces – had known them once. Had a face before. Had one now? How was this possible?

What had happened?

The spirit had floated for an indefinable amount of time in nothingness, barely aware in its weakened state. It had not even the strength to wail in terror as it was abruptly caught and washed away in a tide of light-filled energy. The mind-jewel had gently pushed what little remained of the spirit into the electrified stream, bestowing part of its own vast power onto the spirit before it was carried away by the current.

The thinking stone was clever. Too clever. It had wanted the spirit to be ejected from the orb. Had it known what it was doing? Why would it commit such an unthinkable act?

The spirit did not want this. It did not want to be trapped in a fleshy, slowly rotting vessel. It wanted its freedom. It wanted to go back to before. It wanted to return to the stars and forget it had ever met the Jotun-Asgardian.

The shade-no-more had shut its eyes again, hiding in the comfort of the darkness, refusing to acknowledge what was happening. But no matter how adamantly it rejected its new reality, its fleshiness was already aching from the hard surfaces, and its outer skin layer was cold and wet.

"Look at me."

Communication via sound. Words. Instantly understood, and powerfully commanding. Its eyes immediately flew open, focusing on the face again.

For the first time, the spirit-no-longer became truly aware of the physical world around it. On the figure crouched over its prone form.

Dark fibrous material on its… head. Hair. Eyes of a pale, faded blue. A mouth for communication and the intake of energy, both in solid, liquid, and gaseous form. A bodily-structured frame, clad in coverings. Limbs. Underneath, skin and flesh and bones.

It was the Jotun-Asgardian. Pale, sweaty, hollowed eyes. Sick. Twisted. Skin of a different hue – pale whitish-brown rather than blue. But it was unmistakably the being it had saved from the oblivion of the void. It was obvious once it looked into his eyes – the same soul was visible there, though the area around his eyes were dark and haunted.

"You have nothing to fear," he spoke gently. Again, it perceived the words. It did not know how to communicate in turn, but it understood his intent, and it focused its ocular lenses… eyes… on his face.

Its shivering limbs were beginning to lessen in their trembling, and it was pulling back from the brink of hysteria. But only just.

The Jotun-Asgardian formed his mouth-parts into an upward shape, showing his teeth. The unknown gesture made it wary, but he did not appear hostile. Instead, he waved an appendage – a hand – and materialized a grey fibroid covering. He attempted to drape the material over its form and it recoiled in terror.

The Jotun-Asgardian hesitated, his mouth shape fading into a neutral state.

"I mean you no harm."

It looked into his eyes and knew something had fundamentally changed since the spirit had shared itself with the Asgardian. It was… something in his eyes. It remembered collapsing the portal – the army of hive-mind creatures eagerly awaiting their turn through the space-tear. It remembered dividing its own consciousness in order to destroy the breach, knowing its own existence would come to an abrupt and violent end.

How had it survived? And how was the spirit now confined to a physical form?

This time, it did not recoil when the Jotun-Asgardian moved closer and succeeded in draping the spirit-in-flesh within the soft folds of the material. It did not object when he wrapped it in the fabric and lifted it from the floor. It was stressed by the very sudden physical contact, but did not attempt to flee. It would not have known how to control its clumsy limbs to do so.

It did, however, feel warmth and comfort, nestled in the cloth and being held in the Jotun-Asgardian's limbs. Arms. It was a sensation which was pleasant and felt naturally desirable. These fleshy bodies enjoyed closeness. Bonding. Social imprinting.

The sensation it experienced now was one which was reminiscent of being enveloped by a paternal or maternal being. Did it have parents once? Had it been cared for and held like this before?

It did not know. And at the moment, it did not care. It had been removed from the harshness of the hard environment. And for the moment, it was no longer cold.

Loki had grinned in triumph as his gaze fixated on the prone woman – a grin that slowly faded as she began to violently tremble and vomit up a surprising amount of liquid, the clear contents spilling out onto the gritty concrete floor.

Once this fit had passed, she opted to remain in a shivering heap on the floor, her arms hugging her chest as her legs were curled up tightly against her body. Her face was obscured by her drenched inky hair, but he imagined her eyes were squeezed tightly shut.

The displays of obvious distress coming from the alien being disquieted him. Loki's elation and bravado at completing the vital task set before him was somewhat dampened by an unease in his chest. Something akin to… remorse? Surely not. What did he have to regret?

Loki gently placed his palm on her clammy shoulder, and he paused at the heat coming from her skin. It was much too warm, but he deduced this was a side-effect of the Tesseract and the sceptre creating a fully-formed body for the former-spirit.

If that was, indeed, what the two powerful artifacts had done. The god was still not entirely sure how the process had worked. He had been filled with such certainty that this was the way to free the celestial phantom that he had not questioned it – which was quite out of character for him. But if he had learned anything from time spent with his allies, it was not to question and doubt the veracity of the Tesseract or the sceptre. They were infallible in their perfection.

Loki's actions were rewarded when the spirit-woman slowly, hesitatingly moved her head to look up at him. Her unfocused, almond-shaped eyes held an expression he was not prepared for – an expression as naked as her body, plainly conveying fear and pain.

No, not pain. Agony.

The woman closed her eyes and hid her face again, as if she could not bear the sight of the world.

"Look at me," the god commanded, his voice firm but not cruel. The otherworldly being opened her eyes immediately, finally pulling her focus clearly onto his face.

Her irises were a deep purple, almost black, and seemed to stare right through him – but not in a way that was aloof and inattentive. These eyes seemed to pierce straight into his core. It was… disturbing.

Loki easily swept aside his absurd observations. There was no reason to have compunctions for what he had done. He had freed the spirit – now a female human – sparing it from remaining trapped in the orb for all of eternity.

He had saved its life. _Her_ life. She owed him her fealty. And if the power she had shown as a bodiless entity was transferred to this form, well… She could prove to be a useful tool if the Other and his Lord decided to renege on their promises to the Asgardian.

Still. He could do a little something to make the pain in her eyes lessen.

"You have nothing to fear," Loki spoke softly, employing the silken tone which could give his most vile enemies pause.

His charms appeared to be effective as her shuddering slowly abated. Her large eyes were held onto his face, no indication in her pale face as to whether she understood or not. The All-Tongue allowed his words to be perceived by all beings that possessed a base language, but did spirits communicate in such a fashion?

Loki conjured a soft, grey blanket, and moved to wrap it around her shoulders, suddenly reminded of the fact that she was, indeed, entirely naked. The woman flinched hard, her eyes wide in anticipation of… what? Did she think he would strike her down? After all the effort it had taken to forge a physical body for her?

_Think_ , Loki chided himself. _She was just birthed into the world, fully-formed, without any warning or preparation. She is frightened and disorientated_ _– everything will appear alarming and unfamiliar._

Loki attempted to furnish his most disarming smile and silkily told her, "I mean you no harm."

She continued to stare at him, her eyes locked onto his like a lifeline, which was perplexing to the god. Most beings, especially mortals, found Loki's gaze too intense to meet for long. But she made eye contact with at least as much intensity as he did, seemingly having no inhibitions against staring unblinkingly into his face.

When he attempted to wrap the blanket around her damp shoulders a second time, she did not shrink away. That was progress, at least.

Loki pulled the woman into his arms and supported her weight as easily as if she were made of spider's silk, though his broken rib panged with irritating resolve at his movements.

She did not resist – only curled in on herself – her head cradled against the tarnished golden spaulder covering his right shoulder.

As Loki looked down at the wondrous being he had just created, carrying her past the gawking mortals as he gracefully exited the makeshift laboratory, he noticed a single tear trailing down the corner of one tightly shut eyelid.

Loki would have felt pity, if he was still capable of such things.

 

* * *

 

"What is she, exactly?" Barton asked, looking through the window to the small room which they had made as an impromptu cell for the spirit-woman. It was secluded and empty, save for a small metal table pushed against the wall, accompanied by two flimsy, plastic chairs. The assassin had told the god the room had probably been used as an office, and that it locked from the inside.

The god had immediately magicked the lock so that it now functioned from the outside.

The black-haired former-spirit lay on her side on a thin but plush sleeping pad the demigod had conjured – her back facing the rest of the room, covering as much as her body as possible with the blanket.

She was no longer naked, as Loki had fabricated a simple grey dress and black boots for her to wear after he had gently placed her on the bed. He had not bothered to dress her without sorcery – as he presumed that would be a deeply traumatizing experience for her – and instead materialized the garments directly onto her body.

Already, he could feel the weariness from conjuring so many raw materials – not to mention his initial attack of the SHIELD compound, ensnaring three mind-slaves, escaping from the surprisingly tenacious Director Fury, and now the humiliation of hiding like a scurrying creature in the underground.

The woman had looked down at her new robes, but did not react as one would think to articles of clothing suddenly appearing on one's body. She had simply gazed up at the raven-haired deity, staring at him as if she expected him to say or do… something.

Without so much as a word of gratitude, the woman had then turned from him and curled into that same fetal position, shivering as she pulled the blanket around her.

Loki had given her another glance before leaving her in solitude, deciding it would be wise to let her recover before attempting to communicate with her. He was not especially pressed for time at the moment, and it would also give him the opportunity to devise a plan which would give him the greatest advantage of now being in possession of such a unique creature.

Loki believed she recognized him, from what little they had glimpsed of each other before her entrapment. He hoped that was the case. She would be easier to manipulate if she felt a familiarity with the god. He had no indication if the sceptre would be able to enslave her, and he did not want to make the attempt. Not yet.

Unlike Barton, Dr. Selvig, and the other mortals, he actually _wanted_ the celestial spirit to follow him of her own volition. Perhaps as an assessment to prove he did not need the sceptre to rule – that he could attract the loyalty of true allies who would not change allegiances as soon as it was convenient and profitable.

Loki gave an involuntary shudder as he remembered how his current associate was a robed creature with a bleeding mouth and too many thumbs. The… trials he had endured at the hands of Thanos' Vizier were preferable to what would have awaited him if he had returned to the Golden City.

And it had not been too unpleasant, if he did not contemplate the past few months too deeply. If he focused instead on the multitudes of worlds he had been shown by the Tesseract. On the vision of ruling billions of mortals, holding the world that Thor loved _so_ much in his grasp.

Yes, it was better to contemplate his inevitable dominion of Earth rather than the way his mind tried to scurry away from the confused and muddied image he held of Thanos in his head. Whenever Loki tried to focus his thoughts on the lord of the Chitauri, tried to remember if he had actually _met_ the Other's superior, the effort slipped away from him like water through a sieve.

It was wiser to advance his plans of invasion and return the Tesseract to Thanos as expeditiously as possible. He had made the best choices with what was available to him, and given the current situation, he thought he was faring well.

The god had been preoccupied with these thoughts, standing outside of the spirit's new quarters and staring at her covered form just as the mortal assassin had approached him, inquiring as to the nature of the woman and somehow sounding simultaneously interested and bored.

Loki dragged his eyes away from the spirit-woman, fixating his pale gaze on the most deadly and efficient of his mind-slaves.

"She is… was… some type of celestial spirit. Thanos found it to be an annoyance." Loki nodded his head at the woman through the window. "The Other trapped the spirit in the orb, after it had taken the shape of some kind of fiery creature. Dragon-like. I then released it, and here it is."

"That doesn't look like a dragon to me," Barton said, his bared arms crossed and his expression thoroughly unimpressed.

Loki had to remind himself that stabbing his minion in the eye would probably be a detriment to his archery skills.

"Obviously. I did not choose what form it would take." Loki crossed his arms, unintentionally mimicking the assassin. He forced his arms to unfold and hang by his side, his irritation causing him to misplace the words he was about to speak. Lately, his mind was often like this, easily distracted and surprisingly forgetful. Not at all like his usual self.

"It's probably better this way. Summoning a giant dragon-thingy in the middle of an underground subway system would be…"

"Unwise?" Loki finished, flashing one of his own draconian grins. "Possibly. But it was certainly worthy of effort. And she may yet have some latent abilities in that physical form which will prove advantageous."

Loki certainly hoped so. He had no use for a trembling, mute woman who did nothing but stare at him as if she expected something more.

 

* * *

 

The former-spirit abandoned the physical world for a time. Fascinating images and sounds flashed across its mind. Of flying through stars and wormholes. Of flitting around gas giants and chasing other energy beings through nebulas and star clusters. Of playfully teasing around the edges of a ravenous black hole, testing how close they could dance before sliding down into nothingness and reappearing in another point of space and time.

The spirit opened its… eyes? Why did it have eyes?

The reality of its predicament came crashing down onto its psyche, brutal and merciless as it remembered all that had transpired. It was still trapped in a vulnerable, fleshy vessel.

It had only been dreaming.

Once the Jotun-Asgardian had left it alone in isolation, the spirit had gradually stopped shivering in distress, instead becoming almost lethargic as it felt a deep depression settle onto its soul. Every fiber of its being yearned for release, to return to its former state of incorporeality. It desired to stop breathing, stop its heart from beating, and find the peace and joy that had once been its entire existence.

But it was not to be. No matter how greatly it wanted to curl in on itself and vanish, it was impossible for physical bodies to do so. Instead, it simply lay on the soft surface the Jotun-Asgardian had materialized using an unknown form of energy manipulation. This action would have ordinarily filled the spirit with intense curiosity, but it had merely stared at him silently, helplessly. Nonverbally pleading with him to end its unbearable existence.

When he had merely stared back at the spirit, it had curled onto its side and stared at the vertical surface near its head, its insides hollow and its thoughts twisted in anguish. It must have fallen into a state of unconscious rest soon after.

Now that it was alert, its mind threatened to spiral into a deep depression once again. The spirit attempted to distract its mind by exposing itself in small increments to its environment. Observing and scrutinizing the details of the off-white, blank surface helped hold back the growing sense of despair that threatened to consume its thoughts.

The walls of its confinement were hard and slightly moist. The blanket was pleasurably soft and warm. Its skin was even softer and warmer, and lined with delicate hairs. It was pliable and malleable, and if it pushed or pulled too hard, the sensations turned unpleasant.

It used its delicate and flexible hands to explore its physical form. Smooth, grey material covered most of the body – save for its upper arms which were laid bare. The Jotun-Asgardian had chosen to cover its form using the same methodology he had employed to create the object on which it lay, obscuring its pale, smooth skin from exposure to the damp air.

The spirit examined the tiny, delicate appendages on the ends of its limbs. Fingers and toes, the latter hidden by a stiff, black material which covered its feet.

The spirit's new body did not have a tail, or wings, or fur. No scales or spikes or fangs or hooves. It was completely vulnerable and helpless.

What manner of pathetic creature was this?

Not a Jotun or an Asgardian. Its new form was weak and brittle, and those beings were powerful and impressive. It did not fully understand the body it now possessed, but it was neither capable nor able to protect itself with any sort of natural weapon or defense system.

If it was forced to endure the burdens of having a physical form, it could have at _least_ been functional and practical. Not this delicate vessel of clay flesh and glass bones.

The spirit lay in quiet frustration, first on its left side, then rolling onto its back, then curling onto its right side, observing as much of the room as it was able with its pathetically limited vision which seemed to solely rely on a narrow band of visible light, blind to the other electromagnetic frequencies that filled the universe with their beautiful wavelengths.

The partition to the room opened without warning, startling the spirit as it lifted its head to examine the figure which stepped inside. It was a non-Asgardian, dressed in black, tight-fitting coverings – not the Jotun-Asgardian, but one of the beings present for its… birth? Resurrection? Regeneration? Torment? Each concept felt equally applicable.

It locked eyes with him and was alarmed to see the influence of the mind-jewel staring back. Bright azure eyes swirled with an unnatural brightness, uncontrolled by the owner of the body, the energy signature of the massive mind emanating from his gaze.

How was the mind-jewel able to influence the world outside of its housing? Was the Jotun-Asgardian responsible? He was, after all, now the wielder of the golden apparatus.

The non-Asgardian set a metallic tray down onto a nearby flat surface against the wall. Something was coming from the tray. A sensation which was miserably weak – partially alluring and partially repulsive. The non-Asgardian then approached and wrapped his thicker, more muscular hands under the connection between its arms and shoulders. It did not want to be touched, and it made this known with a warning hiss from between its pitifully dull teeth.

A sound of amusement came from the two-legged creature. Laughter. But the spirit did not understand what was so amusing, and it struggled weakly against his grip. Surprisingly, it was able to remain upright with ease as it was pulled to its feet, holding its balance when the non-Asgardian loosened his grip and guided it forward.

It was grateful for that, as it was difficult enough suddenly having a physical body without having to learn how to focus one's eyes and walk on one's own legs.

At least it did not have to start from an infantile state.

The non-Asgardian then spoke, or at least it believed he did. Unlike the Jotun-Asgardian, his words made no sense – as if he were speaking a completely different language.

The creature – male it assumed, like the Jotun-Asgardian – set the spirit down onto a hard, molded object that seemed designed for sitting, releasing it while it stared at him warily. He proceeded to sit in a similar object across from the spirit and returned its stare with his arms folded across his chest.

The spirit simply stared back, wondering why he had come to disturb the spirit-made-flesh. The non-Asgardian waited for several seconds before making another noise between his lips, reaching forward and causing the spirit to flinch away from him.

He paused before continuing with his movement, picking up one of the metallic utensils on the tray. This tool had several metal tines and he speared it through a brown chunk of mystery substance. The non-Asgardian made a grand gesture, indicated he wanted it to watch, and then he placed it into his mouth part and began to chew.

Ah. The smelly things were sustenance.

He placed the utensil back in front of the spirit, and it carefully wrapped its fingers around the tool and mimicked his actions. The sensation from its own mouth-parts was strange. Disturbing. The… taste… was odd, and the texture made its throat begin to close as it triggered some kind of involuntary reflex.

Having no choice other than to suffocate, it spit the morsel onto the plate, sticking its tongue out as it tried to rid itself of the unpleasant sensation.

The non-Asgardian exclaimed something loudly in his strange language – which the spirit ignored. There were other items to try on the tray, and the brown food-stuffs were clearly not to its liking.

It experimented – cautiously – with a small mound of something fluffy and off-white. This was immediately met with a pleasurable sensation in its mouth. Savory and… salty. Highly pleasant and enjoyable.

The spirit was surprised to find it not only had a physical reaction to the taste, but an emotional one as well. It was entirely possible the chemical composition of the sustenance was able to somehow invoke sensations like pleasure and happiness, but this was entirely new to the now-bodied spirit.

The non-Asgardian began to speak, and it had a suspicion he was only doing so to hear his voice fill the void since the spirit certainly could not offer any sort of input.

It next tried the long, green objects. They also tasted pleasant, though not as delightful as the whitish food. It would suffice, and it was much more edible than the brown, chewy morsels.

When the non-Asgardian spoke again, and it ignored his nonsensical words, he tapped on the glass he had also brought with the tray. It contained a colorless liquid, most likely to quench thirst. It estimated the contents to be dihydrogen monoxide, one of the most abundant liquids in the known universe, and the one most necessary to sustain life.

The non-Asgardian took the glass and drank from it, showing the spirit how to do so. It did not know how to express to the being that, yes, it knew the liquid was for ingesting – it was not _that_ unknowledgeable of physical forms.

The spirit took a sip of the liquid while watching the non-Asgardian who had a look of amusement on his face. A smirk, it thought. It seemed to gain a natural understanding of things when it observed them for longer and longer periods of time, which would prove extremely beneficial the longer it was in this body.

The dilemma resided in the fact it did not want to possess a body, though it could not deny the fact that consuming human food was very pleasurable – an experience which was unique to physical bodies and one which an ethereal being could not take part in.

The non-Asgardian spoke again:

"You don't understand a goddamned word I'm saying, do you?"

The spirit stopped chewing, looking up at the two-legged creature to stare at him, unblinking.

The smile slowly faded from his face.

"Oh, shit. Did you _actually_ understand that?"

The spirit did, or at least, it understood most of the words and their intentions. Gibberish sounds were now becoming solidified concepts and phrases in its mind. Its ability to learn and acquire knowledge seemed to be accelerating with the more experience it gained and the more interactions it took part in. And it began to suspect that this was connected to the surge of power the mind-jewel had flooded into the miniscule spirit just before it had been shoved into the energy stream.

But why was it not enslaved like the poor soul that sat across from it? Surely its own mind, which dwarfed in comparison to the colossal artifact, could be just as easily bent and broken.

This seemed to be the only reasonable explanation for its ability to grasp onto the human's language so quickly after hearing only a small sample of words.

"If you understand what I'm saying, take a drink of water," he said, his expression vaguely curious.

The spirit relinquished the feasting utensil and picked up the glass (it had been correct in its assumption that the liquid was indeed dihydrogen monoxide), and drank – never breaking eye contact with the non-Asgardian.

His lips curled into a smile, one that was not altogether pleasant.

"Time for you and the boss to have a little chat."


	4. Maturation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's first dialogue with the spirit is unlike anything he could have anticipated.

Loki was simultaneously delighted and nervous as he closed his hand around the slightly-damp doorknob – feeling as if he was starting a courtship, about to meet his beloved officially for the first time.

It was absurd – and exceedingly childish – but he could not help his giddiness at the realization of having created a unique being and the wisdom and power it would impart to him. It had been a creature of the vastness of space, a living spirit with untold knowledge and mystery. Who knew what secrets it held within its mind from its journeys throughout the branches of Yggdrasil? Even the All-Father did not have such an object sequestered in his Vault under the Golden Palace.

There were one of two ways to discover the phantom's secrets, and Loki had decided on taking the gentler, more cordial route. The spirit-woman was, after all, the glorious result of the combined powers of the sceptre and the Tesseract. That alone afforded her a modicum of respect – while she remained cooperative, at least.

Loki instructed Barton to wait in the hallway and allow no one to disturb him. The importance of this encounter was too great to leave to chance that some mortal would blunder in with news of the Tesseract's progress. As if he did not already monitor the status of the artifact closely – nearly every waking moment – waiting impatiently for the time when he could bring forth his army of deadly warriors.

The god took a breath to steady his nerves, put on his most charming smile, and opened the door.

The black-haired being sat cross-legged on the mattress, immediately staring up at him with eyes large and dark. They flickered to the golden sceptre he held in his grasp.

Loki closed the door behind him, leaving his hand on the doorknob for a moment longer as he drank her in. She met his gaze with neither terror nor panic now. In fact, her expression was almost entirely blank – a natural negotiation face.

He cleared his throat, having one of those very rare moments in his life when his silver tongue was tied. He was unsure as to what words to say first. How does one relate to a spirit made flesh?

"I suppose we have not had a proper introduction," he began confidently enough, his smile just a little too bright. "I am Loki… Laufeyson," he stated, hoping his hesitation and distaste for having to use his proper surname was not noticed by the celestial being. If she did, she gave no sign of it.

"I do not know if you remember me, but you… I released you from the sceptre's orb. You now have a physical form – human, by the looks of it. I spent an incredible amount of precious energy to do so."

The odd tugging at the back of his mind returned, and he paused in his speech. When he looked at the being he had created, he had the unsettling suspicion he had forgotten something – misplaced an important memory. But when he focused his thoughts and attention on the disquieting sensation, it slipped from his grasp.

Pushing aside the deviation from his mind, Loki continued to speak to the being, his fingers nervously tapping against the hard material of his sceptre. She did not respond to his previous statement, if she even understood its contents. Loki was beginning to doubt that she grasped language as strongly as Barton led him to believe.

He pondered if removing a few of Barton's fingers would impede the assassin's ability to shoot his arrows. Surely he did not need _all_ of them to draw a bow.

"Do you have a name?" he inquired, the good-natured smile still on his face – though he wondered if the spirit recognized the expression and its meaning.

The being stared up at him, giving no obvious response. But her eyes flickered for a moment, seeming to process the question. Her eyes looked downwards, slightly moving from side to side as if she searched for an answer. When she looked up again, she had none.

"You can nod your head, like this, for yes. Shake your head to answer with a no."

The being stared for a moment before shaking her head slowly.

No name, then.

"Wonderful," Loki said, smiling gregariously. "A new identity for a new body seems very appropriate."

Her eyes flickered from his face to the sceptre and back again. Something lingered in her gaze that he was not able to identify. She had truly mastered the nonexpression. Or more likely, she had no experience with expressing emotions through body language and facial patterns.

The being would be an intriguing puzzle to solve, especially since Loki had nothing more pressing to distract his mind with while the portal stabilizer was being built by his mind-slaves. And distractions were something he sorely needed. He was not overjoyed by the prospect of the inevitable conversation he would be forced to entertain with Thanos' Vizier.

"What type of name would suit a unique creature such as yourself? Something… Savory? Sweet? Feminine or masculine? Meant for a blood-thirsty warrior or a blushing handmaiden?" Loki slowly approached her, and she immediately unwound her legs and rose to her booted feet, her eyes focused more pointedly at the sceptre.

There was definitely a recognizable hint of unease in her eyes.

Loki had once given the sceptre the same treatment until it had been placed in his possession. Once it had gone from being a tool of his… education, to the key to his destiny, he had been able to hold it without sweating in unease.

"You remember," he stated, his voice low and smooth. "You remember being inside of the orb. Of being bound there, helpless. Trapped with no hope of escape."

The being stared at him, her eyes sharper as she scrutinized his expression. She stood her ground, even as he approached, but he could see her fingers trembling.

Perhaps she was not as unexpressive as he had first believed.

Loki slowly set the golden weapon on the table against the wall and raised his hands palm forward in a gesture of peace. She seemed to relax the tiniest amount, though still wary and tense like a doe that had caught the scent of a predator in the air. She still eyed the sceptre as if it would jump from the table and attack her like a rabid beast, which was not without merit. The sceptre, even at rest, looked like a cruel fang or a deadly claw.

Loki cleared his throat and slowly placed his hands behind his back, smiling at her pleasantly.

The strange being merely stared back.

At least she did not shudder like his other minions when he fixed his smile upon them – which he found unfathomable since his smile was quite charming.

"Trinity," he said suddenly. Her expression did not change – not that he expected it to.

"It means 'three into one'. Many of these humans worship a god which has three distinct forms. A Father, a Son, and a Holy Ghost." Loki's grin widened. "Which is… quite apropos. Many a mortal army has invaded, pillaged and destroyed other civilizations in the name of the Holy Trinity.

"A fitting name for a spirit… and a spit in the eye of primitive human theology."

There was no reaction.

Loki's grin faded slightly, but he continued to speak. The name was quite whimsical, he thought.

"Now, what about a surname?" Loki hummed in the back of his throat, slowly walking from the table towards the middle of the room. She stared at him with more intensity for every step he took.

"You do not have a family heritage to speak of, so we shall start anew. What would be an appropriate name for…" he looked down for a moment, then back up, his grin showing just a little too much tooth.

"… Frost. Trinity Frost."

The spirit being blinked, her expression mostly blank, except for… something was there.

"It can be something of a small jest between us. You see, I am… not as I seem. I originate from a realm called Jotunheim."

The god hated speaking of it, even to one who most likely had no prior knowledge of Jotunheim or the Frost Giants. Perhaps the spirit being did not even care what he was – not like the Asgardians, with their precious pedigrees and proper bloodlines.

Still, it was a highly unpleasant endeavor when he had to contemplate the undesirable blood running through his veins.

"It is a world filled with Frost Giants, the Jotuns. They are… horrible beasts who thrive on the coldness, and ice, and the harsh bleakness of their frozen world," Loki continued to speak, focused on his own voice rather than on the being as he turned to stare at one of the windows. It was covered by metal shades, and gave him no distraction or respite from the bitterness in his thoughts.

"They are brutes. Cruel, stupid, vain creatures." Loki's voice became darker and more guttural as his loathing for the Jotuns boiled closer to the surface. It was almost cathartic, being able to speak so openly about his contempt for the barbarians – which inevitably meant he was also speaking of himself. Loki could speak as plainly about his indirect self-hatred as he wished – there was no one to interrupt his words with weak persuasions and half-truths. No Mother telling him he was still loved, ignoring the fact that if that were so, they would never have hidden the truth from Loki.

If there was no shame in his Jotun heritage, there would have been no reason for his family to keep it a well-guarded secret. Loki's not-parents had claimed it was to protect him, but it was truly only to protect themselves from the shame of having a Frost Giant sullying the hallowed halls of the Golden Palace.

And what of Thor? What would his not-brother think if he discovered he had been raised alongside the spawn of a monster? Loki had screamed, at the end, attempting to convey the truth that they were not brothers. Thor's only response had been to accuse Loki of madness, just before his throne had been stolen from him and he had been cast into the void.

But Loki had been right. He was always right. He hated to be right.

Blinking, he was startled out of his psychological festering as something entered his field of vision, causing him to snap his head back and turn sharply towards the source.

The spirit being had raised her small, delicate fingers, and they hovered near his face. Too close. Much too close.

The god froze.

"Lo-ki," she spoke tentatively, searching his face, and moving forward the last two inches to touch the side of his jaw.

He did not move. Could not move, as her soft fingers slid across his skin. They were so incredibly… _warm_.

Loki jerked backwards, as if he had been burned, gritting his teeth as an intense tingling sensation spread across the side of his face.

He could not see what was happening, but he could sense it. Somehow, the spirit-woman had temporarily peeled away Odin's enchantment, the Jotunness of his skin revealing itself to expose his heritage with its hateful cerulean hue and runic pattern.

Completely disturbed, his eyes widened in alarm as his own hand lingered on his skin, cool to his touch, as if the prickling he felt from where her fingertips had grazed his face had only been inside of his mind.

Loki was not sure what he had expected from this first interaction, but it had not been this.

He grabbed the sceptre from the table and took a small amount of pleasure in the uncertainty and wariness flickering in her eyes. She would be well reminded that he was the one in control of the entirety of their interactions.

But was he, truly? Even though the traitorous blue skin was fading from view, his composure had been completely shattered. He felt… brittle. As if something inside had shaken loose, threatening to come undone if he did not take great care.

"You will rest. And we will speak more at a later time," Loki said, forming his voice into the lie that said he was not deeply unnerved. He was _not._ He only needed time to process, and to think. He did not need to recover. There was nothing to recover _from_.

The creature he had named Trinity watched him, but remained frustratingly silent. She only followed the god with dark eyes as he exited her impromptu cell – the sensation of her gaze lingering long after he had removed himself from her presence.

 

* * *

 

The spirit did not know what it had done to upset the Jotun-Asgardian, but it believed it was responsible for his sudden departure.

It had not wanted to frighten him – its aim had been to uncover the mirage which shielded his natural state from reality, wanting to observe his authentic image with its new, physical senses. It had been curious to study the unique patterns across his skin. It had already glimpsed his crimson eyes from when he had been adrift in space, and it recalled the azure skin which had covered his body.

Did the Loki not remember it had already witnessed his true form, and was fully aware of his origin species? The being had thought, since the Loki had been speaking of his original birthplace, it would have been acceptable to witness the truth for itself.

Apparently, this was not the case.

The spirit had so many questions now – such as why the Loki had seemed to turn his hate inward as he spoke about the Jotuns. Why would he hate himself because of the species from which he had spawned? What would be the reason to hate oneself at all? Was not each living creature unique and treasured in its own way?

The spirit sat back down on to the bed and leaned its back against the hard wall, contemplating.

It enjoyed being engrossed with its thoughts – a drastic change from its former state of being: constantly in motion and always living in the precise moment of its existence. Spirits did not retain memories or philosophize, for the most part. They lacked the attention span and the desire to brood too much on the universe and its meanings.

That was a laborious task for the living.

And yet… contemplating one's own purpose and reason for existing were heading topics that were worthy of exploration.

What was it? The Loki had recognized it as bodiless entity, but what was it now that it had a physical form? Still a spirit, only trapped inside a living cage? Or was it something else, now?

The more pressing question, besides its own state of existence, was the state of the Jotun-Asgardian's mind and body. His pale blue eyes held a light which seemed unnaturally bright, absent from when it had come across him floating in the void. Darkness had encircled his eyes, and he appeared too pale, though to be honest, it did not know what skin pallor was healthy for him, as it only knew him by his light cobalt shade.

The Loki had not spoken of his rescue by the spirit. It did not think he had been so damaged that he was unable to remember their first encounter – it was certainly not an event the spirit would ever forget.

Perhaps he could not recall the event due to the agony he had received at the hands of the alien that had trapped it in the orb. It still did not know how long it had been trapped – how long he had been at their mercy, or lack thereof.

The spirit had delved deep into its churning thoughts, its attention so focused that the world around it had seemed to vanish in a swirl of analyzation and deliberation. It briefly wondered if this was what it was for all life forms, before the door opened abruptly. The spirit raised its head, curious to see if the Loki had returned.

He had not. Instead, it was the other one. The non-Asgardian, which it now believed to be a human, had returned. His crystallized eyes still remained in the thrall of the sceptre's orb.

"Hey, yo. Trinity, right? Thought you would need to use the facilities. It's been a few hours since you were… uh… born."

Even though it had grown to grasp this human's language with more expertise, it seemed there were still gaps to fill, as his statement made little sense.

It stared at the human blankly, and he made a type of noise which seemed to convey frustration.

"You know. Use the bathroom? Urinate? Take a piss? Whatever?"

Ah. Eliminating waste from the body. Another drawback to having a physical form. But it could see the merit to the human's inquiry. It did need to meet certain… needs.

The spirit nodded and stood, hesitant to speak again. The last time it had attempted communication, it had caused the Jotun-Asgardian to quickly depart with a lingering expression of dismay. It was better to stay silent until it more sufficiently grasped the nuance and pitfalls of language.

"Right. Follow me, then."

The spirit did as instructed, discovering its fleshy form ached and was in distress as it followed the human from the space it had been held. It seemed these forms were incredibly delicate, and it still felt the after-effects of its creation.

Muscles stretching across bone. Tendons contracting and releasing to cause movement. Bones grinding against each other in joints that made its breath catch in its throat.

"You all right?" the human asked, raising an eyebrow in an expression it did not understand but was witnessing more often. "Better not pass out, because I'm sure as hell not carrying you. Boss might not take kindly to that sort of manhandling."

His luminescent eyes sometimes watched it, sometimes not, as he strode beside it.

"He seems a bit possessive of his new pe-… of you."

The spirit walked silently but began to file away these pieces of information in its memory center. It wanted to understand the Loki and discover the reasons for his current actions. Understand why his eyes, though pale and blue, were not the sickly luminescence showing the influence of the mind-jewel. Why the Loki had attacked and enslaved the humans after the collapse of the space-tear. Why he wielded the tool of the evil one – the very apparatus with which they had drawn forth his screams.

Had he escaped from them? Stolen their sinister weapon and fled to this planet? What of the legions of hive-mind creatures that had been ready to follow him?

Why had he freed it from the orb?

Too many unknown variables – though this human seemed to be speaking willingly enough, and the spirit hoped he would continue.

Almost as if he knew it was thinking of him, the human turned to it and gave a lopsided smile which seemed to convey humor or amusement.

"I'm Barton, by the way. Clint Barton. Master assassin and expert archer."

He glanced at it, and when he received no reaction, he said, "That means I'm really good at killing people.

"And not to brag or anything, and no offense to you, but my skills are usually employed putting an arrow through someone's eye at 400 yards rather than baby-sitting a chick from space."

The spirit had nothing to say to that, as most of the words seemed to hold a context it could not decipher.

The human called Barton stopped in front of a plain door with an unknown symbol on it, and stared at the spirit expectantly.

It stared back at him.

The human blew air through his mouth. Yes, that gesture was most definitely frustration or exasperation.

"Well. What are you waiting for? Bathroom's right there."

The being looked at the door, then back to him.

"Oh. You don't… you've never _used_ a bathroom, have you?" His face seemed to take on an expression of discomfort or embarrassment. It was unsure of which, but it was beginning to find interest in trying to discern what the different expressions meant.

It seemed there were not only words, and now symbols to master, but there was also the language expressed by the body. It was all far too complicated. Spirits could flash their emotions and expressions to each other as easily as stars winking across a swirling galaxy.

Physical beings, it seemed, had too many ways of communication. And too many ways to fail at sending the intended message.

"Okay. Um. Don't move an inch. Stay _right_ here. I'll be back with… someone else."

It watched in fascination as he all but fled, wondering at the meaning of the sudden flush of pinkish color which had invaded his cheeks. Blood flow to the surface of the skin, though to convey what, it did not know.

There was nothing to do but wait, and wait it did. For a moment. Then the crease along the wall and floor interested it. And then the dull orange rectangular lamps that lined the evenly spaced columns. The dank and musty smells, of something half-forgotten and rotting.

It was a naturally curious and inquisitive being, prone to wandering and exploring, and the alluring mystery of its temporary freedom was irresistible. If it decided to seek new experiences while the Barton was gone, it was through no fault of its own.

The spirit did not realize it had traveled so far from where the Barton had told it to stay until it felt… a pull. There was a column supporting the corner of the hallway a few feet ahead, and it approached slowly and silently, suddenly feeling that _it_ was near.

The mind-jewel.

The spirit peeked around a damp column and there the Jotun-Asgardian sat, cross-legged on the ground, the glowing sceptre perched delicately across his folded lap.

Its eyes widened as its physical brain attempted to understand what it was witnessing, as what was occurring lay outside the realm of visible light. There were thin, golden strands trailing from Loki's temple into the orb of the sceptre.

The Loki did not move, his back straight with his elbows resting on his thighs. His breath was slow and even, as if he were at rest or in some type of altered state of mind.

The spirit was frozen with indecisions and concern. Concern for the Loki for being connected to the unsettling, powerful mind-jewel. Concern for itself if it were discovered on its own – having slipped away from its chaperone.

So it continued to watch him, knowing not what else it could do. This was the first instance it had had to observe him without being under his intensely penetrating gaze. It examined his slightly curled hair, as black as the void. His armor was made from some type of stiff fabric and metal, dark and emerald with tarnished gold. His garments were imposing and impressive – completely at odds with what the humans themselves adorned. It must have originated from the realm of Asgard from whence he had come, though this was simply a guess, as it had paid little attention to the Asgardians when it had frolicked beneath their shimmering city.

Were the Asgardians aware of what had befallen their wayward citizen? Would they intervene to halt his actions? And if they did, would they spare him from reprisal? Or would they be without mercy for the human lives he had taken?

Its troubled introspection was interrupted as it saw the Loki severely flinch, as if something hidden from sight had struck the side of his head – yet they were still alone.

That was when the spirit noticed the Loki was trembling. His breath, though not loud, was coming in faster and shallower than before in his calmer state. Something, unseen and unknown, had driven fear into the Jotun-Asgardian.

The spirit had the illogical urge to place a hand on his shoulder. To comfort and soothe him, even though it did not know what had frightened him so – though it had an inkling as the gossamer strands that had connected his mind to the orb had vanished.

The Loki began to rise to his feet, and it felt a sharp panic sting at its throat. It could not be caught here. It had to return to the Barton, as it was fairly sure it had witnessed something not meant to be seen.

The spirit turned from the column, meaning to walk at a brisk pace down the hallway, but underestimating the adrenaline which had flooded its body at the prospect of being found. It had not intended to run, but run it did, and it plunged headfirst into the Barton, who it saw too late as he rounded the corner.

The assassin gripped it tightly around its upper arm, and it tried to twist away, its pathetic struggles barely registering on his frowning face.

Another human was with him, this one smaller and wearing a white overcoat, wavy reddish-brown hair pulled up into a compact sphere on its head.

"Hey, slow down! Where were you? Didn't I tell you to stay put?"

The spirit stared up at him with wide eyes, their size increasing as it heard slow, portentous footsteps from behind. The Barton looked past its shoulder to the owner of the footsteps, and it did not need to turn to know whose imposing shadow blocked the nearby lamplight.

"Is something the matter, Agent Barton?" the silky voice asked, all traces of his earlier distress gone. The Loki's voice was so convincing that it would not have believed he was even capable of fear had it not witnessed the emotion just a few moments prior.

"No, sir. Just went to get a female assistant to help with… uh… bathroom. Stuff."

"I see," he replied in the same low tone which simultaneously conveyed mirth and vague threats. "And that is why she was gallivanting about the halls completely unencumbered by your ever-watchful presence?"

"I… may have misplaced her for a second."

" _May_ have?" The Jotun-Asgardian smiled in a way that held promises of dark, unpleasant things.

It opened its mouth. The spirit wanted to say something which would free the Barton of responsibility, as it had not meant for the human to be blamed for its curious nature. And the spirit was concerned, very concerned, for the manner in which the Jotun-Asgardian was speaking. It had not remembered him being so… so intimidating. So _cold_.

The Loki caught the movement and studied it closely. Their eye contact was so intense that it knew its only salvation lay in the fact that it could not fully display emotions yet. Its facial expression was completely blank, even as the spirit inside squirmed in discomfort.

The Barton was saying something, but it did not pay attention, and neither did the Loki. Not for a long minute of intense scrutiny in which the spirit felt a second flood of chemicals release into its body, causing its heart to race and its muscles to tingle in distress.

The Jotun-Asgardian was not harming it in any way – why was its body reacting in such an extreme manner to his presence?

"-it was just for a moment, and you couldn't expect me to go into the _ladies'_ restroom and-"

"That's _enough_ , Agent Barton. Your usefulness has not grown so thin that I would execute you for this single transgression."

The Jotun-Asgardian finally dragged his pale blue eyes from the spirit and as he passed by the agent, he paused and slightly tilted his head towards him.

"Lose sight of her again, and I _will_ satiate my curiosity of knowing if blinded hawks will die of starvation."

The spirit did not understand the context of the words, but it could interpret the tone easily enough.

"Yes, sir," the Barton responded with a curious lack of fear, releasing his hold when the Loki glanced down at the hand which was still gripped tightly around the spirit's physical arm.

The Jotun-Asgardian glanced back at the spirit-made-flesh, the chilling look in his eyes causing it to dry-swallow in discomfort. A small curl at the edge of his mouth indicated that he had seen. But he said nothing, and departed down the hallway, his stride slow but purposeful – not even a hint that anything disturbed or plagued his mind.

This would not do. It had a growing sense of unease, that this Jotun-Asgardian was not the same as the one it had resuscitated. It would have to guard its emotions more closely if it hoped to navigate on what was quickly turning into treacherous ground.

"Come on," the assassin spoke briskly, interrupting its thoughts, not looking back as he began to walk down the dimly-lit hallway, his black boots hardly making a sound. It quickly followed, glancing at the other human who had remained silent the entire exchange. It noticed she had dark auburn hair, wrapped up in a compact style. Her skin was also a darker shade of brown than its own, as well as the Barton's.

"It is… sorry," the being spoke slowly, looking back up at the Barton.

"What?" he asked confusedly, looking back with glowing azure eyes.

"It was not its intention to endanger you."

Speaking felt very strange, and did not come at all naturally. It felt clumsy and foolish, stumbling through its lips and tongue to form coherent noises which could be interpreted correctly.

"Don't worry about it." The agent did not seem overly concerned, but the being doubted it was in the interest of a mind-thrall to prioritize self-preservation.

The other continued to remain silent, and the being noticed, curiously, that its eyes were a light brown – they did not contain the controlling light of the mind-jewel.

"What… what did the Loki mean? About the blinded hawks?"

"Ah. That. Well… my codename is Hawkeye."

The being said nothing, still not understanding. The Barton seemed to sense this.

"Hawks are birds of prey which hunt primarily by sight. So a blinded hawk would most likely starve."

He glanced at it before saying:

"It's a metaphor for slowly torturing me to death."

"Oh."

It did not know how else to respond to that alarming piece of information, other than to feel a sort of sickness growing in its midsection at the thought of the Loki tormenting this human, especially after he had endured such abuse himself.

The trio reached the end of the hallway, halting the alarming conversation which tangled the spirit's thoughts together in growing anxiety and uncertainty.

The silent companion opened the door and walked inside, and the Barton indicated through a series of hand gestures that it should follow.

It did, and the process of learning to use the waste-eliminating devices was simple but degrading. It was horrified to learn from the human that it would have to do this several times a day. How did the humans have time to be productive if they were constantly required to find a toilet facility?

Physical forms were so… messy. Inefficient. Awkward. Unable to ever be pristine or free of filth as the bodiless spirits were.

After it had done what was required, it exited the grungy partition and stopped short as it was confronted with a strange vision on the opposite wall.

It was… a reflection. The spirit slowly approached its replica, eyeing the startling, foreign image.

Hair as black as the void hung well past its shoulders. Large dark eyes and a complexion paler even than the Loki's. It had soft, round features, slightly different than the other human faces it had seen so far.

"What is it?" it asked, a hand reaching upwards to gingerly touch its own face.

"What is what?" came the voice from the unnamed human.

"It," the being repeated, pointing a finger at the reflection.

"Human. And you're not an 'it'. You're a she, or a her. Female. A woman."

"What else?"

"I would guess late 20s to mid-30s of Asian descent. If you were born to parents, that is."

"Female," the being repeated, its reflection mimicking the words. Gendered. Humans were gendered creatures. Sexual reproduction. A sexually dimorphic species with separate defining features and genitalia.

Complicated. Cumbersome. Irrelevant. It would have been much simpler if the spirit had been regenerated in an asexual form, not having to be concerned about procreation instincts and bothersome hormones.

It was truly beginning to pine over its former bodiless existence.

"Why did the Barton not want to enter this room? Is it dangerous?"

Curiously, the human laughed, a short noise of amusement that it did not understand.

"Not exactly, though he would probably be chased out. It's standard in some societies to separate bathrooms by gender."

"You are female?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why am I female?"

"Why are males not allowed in this area?"

"It… um… that's just how it is. To make people more comfortable, I guess."

"Ah," it said, indicating it had understood when in reality it was left more confused than before. It tried another question, unable to repress its natural curiosity.

"Your eyes, why do they not glow?" it asked, tearing its gaze away from its reflection, fascinated by the image of its new form.

"There was no need to… convince me. I came willingly enough," the female replied, her gaze narrowing.

"Why?"

"I'd gladly join any cause which plans to bring down SHIELD," she replied, her brown eyes meeting its own unwaveringly.

"SHIELD?" it asked again. This was the first being it had spoken to who was not the Barton or the Loki – who was not under the influence of another, at least overtly. Perhaps she could give the spirit new information that would help interpret its situation.

The female curled her lip, but not with the malice which it had seen accompanying such an expression on the Loki's face. She seemed more amused at the spirit's multiple questions.

"SHIELD is a covert, clandestine organization of assassins and spies. They make it their business to be in the business of everyone else. Anyone who can be seen as a threat to the United States, or to SHIELD, is closely monitored. Hunted down, even. Imprisoned without trial or jury."

The female crossed her arms and eyed it up and down.

"Especially someone like you."

"Explain," it requested. Did other beings like itself exist on this planet?

"A… person spawned from nothingness using the power of the Tesseract and the sceptre? They would lock you away, at the very least. Perhaps slice you up, see what makes you tick."

The spirit processed this information as it stared at the human, its brows tensed as it scrutinized the odd expression on her face.

"Is that why you fight them?" the spirit asked, needing to know why the humans would ally with the Loki, who nearly succeeded in bringing forth an army of foul creatures onto her planet.

The female hesitated before answering, her eyes unfocused and far away.

"My sister. She was… different. Special." A ghost of a smile flitted across her face, making her seem more youthful and not so heavily burdened with bitterness. "She could manipulate water. Make it move. Cause it to freeze, or boil, or simply evaporate."

The human's smile faded, the hardness returning to her eyes.

"She could also condense it. Create water out of seemingly thin air. In other words, SHIELD used their conveniently vague threat list to identify my sister as a target because she could potentially drown someone on dry land, filling their lungs with water."

The female's voice was a mixture of pained recollections and frustrated helplessness.

"Sophie was harmless. She liked to… to water the garden. Fill her glass because she was lazy, or dump water on our brother's head for fun. She never would have hurt anyone.

"But SHIELD took her away… We never found out where, or what they've done to her."

The female human stared directly into the eyes of the spirit, and something dark brooding in them.

"I never saw her again. Maybe if SHIELD is destroyed or dismantled, I'll be able to find her. Take her home."

It did not know what to say, but it felt the beginning of understanding. It was experiencing empathy for this human and the loss of her sibling. Despite being wrapped in layers of blood and bone, it seemed these bodies were still capable of sharing strong emotional empathy. It was glad to know this one aspect had not been lost in its new form.

"Thank you… for telling it," it replied, unsure of what would be the appropriate response. "It is sorry about your sister," it added, finding this statement both genuine and safe.

The female nodded and took a deep breath before she turned to open the door. But before she placed her hand on the handle, she slightly turned and said:

"If you really are sorry, then help the Asgardian open a portal." The human looked at the spirit with an expectant expression. "That _is_ why he released you from the sceptre, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me so far! Please leave a review if you feel so inclined, and tell me how I'm doing. The next couple of chapters will start to pick up, and we'll eventually see some more familiar faces.


	5. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is definitely unhappy with the spirit's behavior - confusion and fear ensues.

Loki's composure had returned to one of serene amusement before he decided to revisit the cosmic being he had summoned, appearing outside her temporary… accommodations. There was nothing but the hint of shadows around his eyes to identify that anything was amiss.

That the words of the Other haunted his footsteps. That the voice of his mother spoke softly from the shadows.

Frigga had appeared to him, once, after his enlightenment at the hands of his allies. He had quickly dismissed her conjured projection, not wanting to be distracted while he plotted and schemed for his inevitable rule of Midgard.

Her soothing, comforting voice had pled for him to return home, attempting to wheedle its way into his heart as it always inevitably did.

_I have no home from which to return_ , he had bitterly growled before sending her image away. Loki had not wanted her bothersome maternal prattling to interfere with his plans. At least, that was the narration he spun in his mind, convincing himself it was the Queen's meddling that irked him – not the fact that her soft eyes had begun to redden at the sight of what her son had become.

No, there was no evidence that he was burdened with anything besides the glory of ruling his future kingdom. Nothing to show that his beleaguered mind sometimes felt foreign and fragile, other times it was manic with energy that left him restless and agitated, pacing through the dimly-lit halls like a caged beast.

Loki was weary, and nothing more. Once his mind eventually quieted from its frenzied cycle, he would be able to close his eyes and rest. Eventually.

In the interim, he had decided to return to the phantom's makeshift cell, though he was not entirely sure of the reason. Had he come see if her language skills had improved? If her knowledge had grown? She had not spoken again, and when he had instructed Dr. Selvig to examine the being once Agent Barton had returned with her – using his various tools of "science" – he had found nothing particularly special or unique about her new form. The only deviation from normality lay in a body temperature that ran higher than that of a typical mortal, and she emitted gamma radiation similar to the Tesseract and the sceptre, though in an infinitesimal amount.

_You have given me no knowledge I did not already possess,_ Loki had snapped, causing the mortal to scurry back to his work on the portal stabilizer in the provisional lab.

Loki turned the doorknob, pleased to see that Barton, who was dutifully stationed next to the door, had kept it securely locked. It seemed the Hawk's ears were not as dull as his wits.

The god knew the assassin preferred to observe from a distance, but he had commanded the lethal mortal to remain close by – both to remind the other humans that the area was forbidden, and because it gave Loki a small amount of pleasure to have such complete mastery over the former SHIELD agent.

The spirit-made-flesh appeared to be staring directly at him even before he entered the room, and she slowly rose to her feet – never taking her eyes from his face. The way her eyes could remain both intensely focused and disturbingly blank of emotions was disconcerting, something he rarely experienced in the presence of another. Ordinarily, Loki was the one to cause unsettling emotions in others, and he was more than a little annoyed that she could illicit such a reaction from him.

The trickster god gave her a bright and graceful smile, wielding his charms as easily as he wielded any weapon. The being's expression remained frustratingly blank, causing his smile to falter. It would be difficult to play mind games or lure her into a trap with his words if there was a distinct lack of feedback. There was not much satisfaction in toying with one who could not be goaded into fantastic displays of emotions, as he had soon discovered from his impassive mind-slaves.

"How are you feeling, Trinity? Growing accustomed to your new… body?" Loki inquired, making a point of dragging his eyes along the entire length of her physique. Slowly. His eyes lingering in places where they should not if one were being civil and polite.

The being's nonexpression never shifted, regarding Loki with as much emotion as the blank wall behind her.

He could not decide if he was impressed or disappointed.

There was one thing that _could_ illicit a reaction from her. And he held it in his hand, drawing closer as he casually moved the blade upwards. Ever so slightly.

Her reaction was immediate and deliciously tangible. The former-spirit attempted to retreat, but there was nowhere for her to go. Her back was pressed against the clammy plastered brick wall, trapped no matter how hard she tried to pass through its solid material.

"You need not fear me, Trinity," Loki remarked affably, his voice tinged with the affront he pretended to feel at being perceived in a threatening manner.

The creation he had named did not respond or take his bait, though he had not expected her to – it had been a weak ploy at best. He was simply… testing the waters.

Giving her another smile which could melt Uru, Loki began to slowly pace a semi-circle around the room, the sceptre casually moving from hand to hand. He did not set it on the table, desiring the celestial creature to be constantly reminded that the thing she seemed to fear most was in his grasp, and never far from hand.

_He_ controlled her fear, not the other way around.

"From our last… discussion, it is obvious that you are not unskilled. There are few within the Nine Realms who can peel back the enchantments of the All-Father."

She had naught to say. Her dark eyes followed only the progression of the sceptre as it passed her by. Perhaps she did not know how she was able to accomplish such an act, or she was unwilling to reveal her potential talents to the god.

"You have power within you. I would use that power to fulfill my destiny on this backwards planet, and claim my rightful place as ruler of these pitifully lost souls."

A small reaction. Even if it was only a brief flickering of the eyes to meet his, it had attracted her attention.

"If you serve me, faithfully and well, you shall want for nothing. I will see to it that you are cared for, and all that you wish and desire will be made yours."

This seemed to be of less interest to her. She returned her focus to the sceptre and its illuminated orb, ignoring his exceedingly generous offer.

Fast as a serpent, Loki crossed the small distance between them, reaching forward and placing his fingers under her chin, forcing her face upwards. He ignored the way she flinched, and the way her skin was unnaturally heated under his fingers.

At least this time, his skin did not betray him with its hideous hue.

" _When I speak, you_ will _look at me_ ," he warned icily.

Loki no longer held a smile upon his face. His lips were twisted into a grimace, and his eyes bored into hers, forcing their compliance. Her dark eyes, having nowhere else to look, fixated on him – her dilated pupils threatening to swallow them whole.

This was not how he had envisioned the dialogue with the ethereal spirit to unfold. He was already slipping and revealing too much of his underlying turmoil. Even anger was a liability when it was uncontrolled and undisciplined – it had to be honed to a sharp edge like a well-cared for weapon. And anger was the emotion he had the most difficulty restraining since his arrival to Earth.

When Loki believed he had reined in his temper a reasonable amount by concentrating on his breathing, a hint of a smile beginning to form on his face, she chose that exact moment to finally speak.

It only made things much, much worse.

"A wise king never seeks out war."

Loki snatched his hand away from her chin, the blood draining from his face as his insides were reduced to a mixture of slush and ice.

It was as if the All-Father lorded over him, passing judgement with his hateful, all-seeing eye, peering through his illusions – both magical and psychological – to see the underlying deficiencies and deformities. To see the inner monster that Odin had utterly failed to tame and domesticate.

_You have been weighed, measured, and found wanting._

It was not possible. He was not supposed to stand there, his body frozen in shock, his eyes wide in horror. Those expressions were reserved for lesser beings, not for a god.

"What… what did you say?" Loki demanded, his wavering voice undermining the command in his voice.

The being did not respond.

"Oh, no. You're not going to play the mute with me _now_."

Loki seized her around the neck, his cold fingers pressing into the delicate flesh of her slim throat. He held the spirit being against the wall, her large eyes filled with definable fear as the glowing orb flared brightly, reflecting in the dark pools of her gaze.

" _Where did you hear those words?"_ Loki hissed, the blade of the sceptre a mere inch from the smooth curve of her cheek. She flinched from the cruel blade, which she unwisely seemed to fear more than the god.

" _Speak_!" he barked, his voice teeming on the edge of hysteria. Loki's desire to obtain the cooperation of the celestial being was overpowered by an all-consuming hatred of the All-Father. Of the unbridled rage at the fact that she had not only unnerved him, but had made him feel fear. _Twice_.

"It… it was…" she choked out the words, her eyes glassy as she tried to speak, and he loosened his grip the tiniest amount.

"It was… an impression… it remembers from… before. When it… found you," she stammered, her eyes wide as his fingers flexed tighter around her neck.

" _You_ did not find me. Thanos found me. _He_ saved me from oblivion – you were nothing more than an irritating wisp that drew His ire with its foolish antics." Loki's eyes were wild with the need to curb her lying tongue. To make her see her error: that he owed her _nothing_ , and she owed him _everything_.

The celestial being parted her lips but she did not respond, the only noise she made were the small gasps of air she tried to pull into her lungs. Loki blinked and loosened his iron grip, not having realized his fingers had tightened once more.

"That… that is not…" the being paused, her body now visibly shuddering as she attempted to catch her breath.

"Not _what_?" Loki darkly demanded. Though he had held back his desire to squeeze the life from her, his voice was tinged with barely contained rage.

Her depthless eyes regarded him with the appropriate amount of fear. She appeared as if she wished to speak, and once she did, Loki could sense the peril of her words. The danger if he allowed them to linger in the air, unchallenged.

"That is… not the truth." She took a quick breath, and – as if the hapless creature actually possessed a death wish – she hurried to spill the illicit words from her lips.

"You manipulate the humans while your own mind is tangled in the web of another. Your words ring false and your eyes harbor shadows. You are not-"

Her words were cut short as Loki's fingers closed around her throat, his teeth bared in an expression of unbridled fury.

The god could have crushed her, ground her spinal cord into dust and her windpipe into mash. He could have destroyed her delicate, frail body – ended her existence in the span of a breath. Or tear her into a thousand pieces with his bare hands. Loki was her creator, was he not? He made her, and he could _unmake_ her if he so desired.

And at the moment, he desired it very much.

Loki held the blade near her cheek, tracing the shape of her face down to her neck, the point of the blade hesitating towards the middle of her unmoving chest. It was only an inch away from the cloth of her grey garment.

All he would have to do was bury the tip of the blade into her chest. It would be so simple. So effortlessly easy.

So… disappointing.

Her laughable efforts at causing Loki to question his own memories and actions were nothing compared to his indomitable will. It would be a waste to use the sceptre on a miserable ghost-of-a-creature such as her.

The god would make her obey without it.

Loki slowly lowered the blade away from her body and she took a shuddering breath as he released his vise-like grip on her neck. The being's eyes were still much too wide, like the eyes of a steed who had stepped on a serpent. She looked perfectly balanced between bolting and being paralyzed in terror, but even that was not enough to satisfy him.

"You are _mine_. Do you understand? I will have your absolute obedience. The sooner you comprehend this, the easier your existence will become."

The god's eyes bored into hers until he was satisfied that his intentions were perfectly grasped before he smoothly moved away from her, attempting to replicate his earlier façade of serenity and control. The only movement his creation made was to rub at the raw, pink hand-shaped imprint on her neck.

Loki felt the stirring of something, witnessing that ugly mark on her bare skin, but he repressed the sensation before it could become something more tangible. Shoved it down, violently. He had to snuff out all frailty and cast out all doubt of his actions.

There was no room for them in a god.

Loki left her cell without another word, his blazing glare lingering on her as the door clicked shut, the bolt locking with a dread finality.

 

* * *

 

The spirit had not felt such visceral emotions since it had confronted the omnipotent mind-jewel, and what it was experiencing now could only be described as "horror". Once the sharp fear of suffocation and bodily harm had passed, a cold, dreaded sensation had taken its place, causing its limbs to shake and its muscles to tremble as tightness coiled within its torso.

It knew the Loki was not entirely to blame for his actions – that its enmity should be directed at the one who had torn the Jotun-Asgardian's mind asunder. But it was difficult to loath one who was on another dimensional plane when it was the Loki's own hand which had squeezed its neck with merciless brutality.

The spirit had attempted to explain what it believed, what it had witnessed in regards to the state of the Jotun-Asgardian's distorted will. It had attempted to relate to the Loki by repeating a phrase it had absorbed during their bonding, one that must have been important to him, as it had been imprinted onto his soul so deeply.

Its efforts had been met with volatile anger and threats of violence, leaving the spirit frightened and lost.

As it massaged the agony in its throat, as it sank onto the resting pad and pulled its legs close to its chest, its back propped against the damp wall, it began to contemplate escape for the first time.

But would it escape? _Could_ it escape?

It had seen the heavily-fortified humans running through the corridors. Its door was securely sealed from the outside – and it knew the Jotun-Asgardian had charged the Barton-Hawk with being its vigilant watcher and jailer.

The chances of successful flight were infinitesimal. It would have to remain, and not abandon hope that the Jotun-Asgardian could be reached. The spirit had clearly seen the madness and disturbance in his eyes, and it had to believe whatever sickness had been planted in his mind could be extracted.

The cruel creature which had held the spirit tightly within his painful grasp had fundamentally changed from the abandoned, dying lifeform it had found adrift in the empty void. The Jotun-Asgardian had been filled with anguish, heartache, and yes, even rage, but he had not held in his heart a dark desire to enslave the human species. His eagerness to conquer the human planet was something new and foreign – absent from the being the spirit had shared itself with.

But what could the spirit possibly do with such a frail, vulnerable body? The Loki had claimed it had power within its form, but it felt no such source of vitality or strength. It was as helpless as a newborn offspring before a raging storm, unable to take shelter or flee from the onslaught of the Jotun-Asgardian's wrath.

It had been dragged into this precarious situation for having spared the Loki from certain death in the forgotten edge of the universe, for attempting to end his torment at the hands of a sinister creature, and for collapsing the portal which held promises of planetary slaughter.

And even now, after all of the ill-fortune that had befallen the spirit for its involvement with the Jotun-Asgardian, it still wished to seek salvation for its captor. It could not discern why it felt such a strong need to protect him, but it was there, present and constant.

Perhaps it pitied the Loki. Perhaps it felt responsibility for his pain and suffering. Or perhaps it could not resist the plight of a creature that needed saving. It did not know, as the Jotun-Asgardian had been the first living being it had interacted with. Lifeforms, as a general rule, were not found floating in the empty places of the universe.

But how could it repair the damage to his psyche when the Loki had no memory of his rescue? Had no reason to trust its intentions or believe its words? He appeared more fixated on his obsession with dominating the humans than on listening to anything the spirit had to offer, as evident by the painful throbbing around its neck.

What if saving his soul came at the expensive of its own life, which it had only just acquired? Would it still try to save the Loki now that it had a physical form?

Everything was different now. Before, when it was nothing but an amalgam of formless energy, it would have sacrificed itself to save another – that was the nature of the selfless, pure spirit-beings. It had had no real identity, no sense of self and individuality, no biological or psychological imperative to survive at all costs.

Now, with a physical form that possessed desires and needs… was it still supposed to be as selfless and willing to sacrifice itself? Or did it have ownership and a right to defend the integrity of its own body?

Autonomy. It now had bodily autonomy. What did that mean?

For the first time, it wished it could speak to the mind-jewel, or at least siphon more of its acumen. Perhaps the boundless mind could inform the spirit as to what it should do, or at least, what it should not do, as its actions clearly agitated the Jotun-Asgardian in his unstable frame of mind.

Still, it did not know how useful the mind-jewel would be in this situation, as the spirit had realized something during its interactions with the Loki. There was a distinction between knowledge and wisdom, and it believed the mind-jewel only had the power of the former, not the latter.

Unsettled thoughts swirled through its consciousness as it unintentionally drifted into a lower state of awareness, its forehead resting against the curve of its knee as its arms remained protectively clasped around its legs. It remained this way for an unknown amount of time, retreating to the sanctuary of the stars in its mind until the door to its now-prison opened, startling the spirit into immediate alertness.

The Barton-Hawk stood over it, an amused smile lighting his face. He carried several rectangular, bound objects in his hand, though it did not know what they were.

"The boss has assigned homework for you, you lucky girl," he said, plopping the heavy objects on the mattress next to it.

It stared up at him in blank confusion, understanding the context of only half of his words. The human seemed to realize this – he was becoming nearly as adept at interpreting the spirit's blank looks as it was at deciphering his overt emotions.

"Homework. Like… preparing in advance. Researching. Gaining knowledge before your next fire-side Kumbaya with Loki. 'She must learn to _articulate_ her thoughts more concisely and clearly' – his words, not mine."

The spirit did not see the point in this, as it grasped words well enough. Its speech being unintelligible had not been the source of conflict during the previous conversation between the spirit and the Loki. In fact, its words had been perceived quite clearly as evident by the brief but naked shock it had seen in his eyes.

"Plus, you're probably illiterate, which I don't think _pleases his Royal Worshipfulness_." Barton-Hawk spoke the last two words with a sort of mocking tone that mimicked the Jotun-Asgardian's cadence of voice.

It made the corner of its lips twitch for some odd reason.

The Barton-Hawk seemed to view this as an invitation, because he sat down next to it on its sleeping pad, picking up one of the objects as he ignored the way the spirit shifted in discomfort from their physical closeness.

"We've gone dark – no contact with the outside world. Which means no Internet. So we're doing this the old fashioned way." He gently patted the thick stack. "There are a couple dictionaries here, plus a thesaurus. It'll teach you the meaning of words, and different variations of those words. Make you all smart and shit."

Again, it felt its learning abilities being dismissed. Perhaps it did not speak very often, but did that make it less intelligent?

"I'll help you get started, no worries," he said, grabbing one of the heavy items and propping it open on his lap. The spirit glanced up at him curiously before looking down at the exposed pages, viewing the nonsensical symbols covering the sheaves of thin material.

"Words are formed with letters. There are twenty-six letters in the English alphabet, made up of vowels and consonants, and they're combined in different ways. The same letters can even sound different, depending on their arrangement…"

After a paused moment, he remarked, "Hell. You probably don't know what numbers are, either."

The Barton-Hawk was a surprisingly patient guide. He treated the spirit as if it was a young progeny and he was the elder mentor. He never became impatient or sharp, and it began to grow to enjoy his company.

Yes, he was a mind-thrall to the Jotun-Asgardian, but it believed these characteristics were native to his nature. Surely it would be a waste of valuable energy to reprogram every mind-thrall's personality, mannerisms, and habits.

It believed its logic was sound. And in either case, the Barton-Hawk did not threaten or intimidate the spirit in order to make it cooperate. He simply treated it as if it was no different than any other being – as if they were equals. The thought made it feel strangely warm, somewhere deep in its chest.

Eventually, after the spirit stopped asking him questions about how to pronounce certain groups of letters and how they could vary, the Barton-Hawk stopped talking and simply sat in silence, watching it as it read more and more rapidly through the pages of the object called a "book".

It blinked and looked sideways at him, speculating at the look on his face. The assassin seemed to be buried in his thoughts, or in the process of seeking out a lost memory.

Deciding to speak, it met his azure-clouded eyes and asked:

"Why is it here?"

The human gave a small grin and said, "Why are any of us here?"

"You were born," it replied, not understanding his light tone or his obviously-answered question. "It was… not. Why?"

The Barton-Hawk seemed to think for a while, his eyebrows knitted together as his azure-eyes glowed eerily.

"Loki didn't exactly specify why. There's talk among the scientists that you were created to control the Tesseract. Help open another portal. But that doesn't make any sense."

It did not speak, waiting for him to continue. Apparently, the Loki had not commanded him to withhold information from his captive.

"Dr. Selvig is already working on a stabilizing structure to prop the portal wide open. There'd be no reason to use the sceptre _and_ the Tesseract to create something of redundancy, especially given the amount of power needed to build you a body in the first place.

"So it has to be something else. He _needs_ you for something. Loki doesn't do anything without a reason."

As he spoke, the spirit realized it had underestimated the human's intelligence. He seemed to be a very sharp tactician with impressive deductive skills.

"You are mistaken about one thing," it said, slightly tilting its head. He raised an eyebrow.

"It was not created by the Loki – it already existed. It was trapped, in the sceptre's orb. Placed there by a… a terrible fiend from the other side of the portal. As punishment, when it attempted to halt his torture."

"Whose torture?"

The spirit blinked at him. Did he truly not know?

"Loki's."

"Someone tortured _Loki_?" he asked incredulously, his eyebrows curved upward in an expression of disbelief.

"Yes. Then it was trapped in the sceptre, and it… it woke up, here." Its inner organs churned in discomfort as the lie left its lips. But it did not forget that as kind as the Barton-Hawk had been to the spirit, he was still a mind-thrall. It did not want word of its role in the collapse of the portal to reach Loki's ears.

"I'm guessing you weren't floating around space looking like you do now?"

"No," it replied, watching him closely.

"Loki mentioned something about that. Said you were shaped like a dragon? I don't know, it didn't make a whole lot of sense."

"What is a dragon?"

"It's a mythical beast. At least, I hope so. I mean, I used to think gods weren't real, and look how that turned out." He smiled at the being with far too much levity, and it did not change its facial expression. He continued his explanation, apparently not offended by its lack of reaction.

"Anyway, dragons? Big, scaly, mean. Breathe fire. That sort of thing. Sound familiar?"

It gently shook its head, though it did remember how it would occasionally like to take on the translucent shape of an impressive, scaly creature. Was that the same as these beasts the humans believed to be fictitious?

"It was… it is not sure how to describe it with language. It was without a body. Pure energy with a consciousness, floating in and out of the fabric of the universe, trailing along the curves and hidden tunnels between the dimensions."

The Barton-Hawk made a whistling sound through his lips.

"Sounds like that time I tried mushrooms."

"Mushrooms?"

"I'll tell you when you're older."

The spirit did not understand, but he said it in a friendly tone, his eyes creasing at the corners in an expression which seemed to convey warmth.

They sat in silence, and it returned to the lined pages in its lap, but the spirit could no longer focus on the typed words. Fear for the integrity of its newfound existence kept prodding and pulling at its attention.

It needed to ask something of the human. So it did.

"What will happen to it?"

The warmth slowly left his face, an uncharacteristically blank one replacing it.

"Loki will find a purpose for you. Or he won't. You'll be useful, or you'll have a bullet in your head." The good-natured smile returned to his face, completely discordant to the dangerous words he had spoken. "Either way, you'll have your answer, eh?"

The Barton-Hawk rose to his feet, his expression untroubled and carefree as he seemed to be ignorant of the way the spirit had paled in response.

"Keep on studying, kiddo. It'll make things a lot smoother for ya. Trust me."

The Barton-Hawk smiled down at it, but the spirit's expression remained vacant, concealing the nauseous sensation in its midsection as it returned his glowing gaze.

His demeanor untroubled by the last few minutes of their exchange, the assassin turned and walked to the door, his black garments allowing him to move in complete silence.

Without a backwards glance, he was gone, leaving the spirit in a state of growing dread.

The spirit had underestimated the Jotun-Asgardian's broken and twisted state of mind. It was becoming devastatingly clear that he was a threat. He was a danger to the safety of the spirit and its new body. It could not be sure that in one of his fits of rage, he would not strike it down despite whatever designs he had in mind for it.

Then the spirit stopped breathing, listening closely, straining its ears intently for footsteps or any other sign that the Barton-Hawk was nearby. Gently setting the thick dictionary on the floor next to the pad, it rose to its feet and cautiously crossed the room to the door. Still listening for signs of life on the other side, its ears met nothing but silence.

Giving the dull doorknob a look of apprehension, as if it were a venomous creature, it slowly wrapped its palm around the cool metal. It turned, and met no resistance.

The spirit had not heard the typical, loud click when the Barton-Hawk had exited its confined space. Somehow, it had slipped the assassin's mind to reset the padlock to its prison.

An opportunity had presented itself to the spirit, and it doubted it would receive another. The Barton-Hawk's ominous words echoed in its mind – reminding the spirit that time was not on its side. Once the Jotun-Asgardian realized it was nothing more than a helpless soul trapped in a brittle vessel, he would discard its useless shell.

What would happen to the spirit trapped within? Would it return to the stars, where it could leave behind the unpleasant memories of its brief life? Or would it become nothingness, ceasing to exist?

Besides interpreting written words, speaking a language based on sounds, and understanding nuanced body postures, it was learning something else quite vital to its existence: Self-preservation.

Along with fear and dismay, it was experiencing another new emotion: Desperation.

The spirit opened the door.


	6. Delinquent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spirit finds itself in a spot of trouble, and Loki is left to pick up the pieces.

The trickster god had returned to the makeshift laboratory in order to scrutinize the mortal scientist's progress. Dr. Selvig, having been re-energized by the miraculous emergence of the spirit being from inside of the sceptre's orb, had worked in a nonstop frenzy to understand the inner workings of the Tesseract. He had full, unimpeded access now that he was no longer under the watchful gaze of SHIELD, and Loki's effort to manipulate the mortal long before he had been contacted by Director Fury had been repaid tenfold. The mortal had not failed Loki in retrieving the phantom from the orb, and he would not fail in creating a stable portal for his army of Chitauri to spill forth onto the Earth.

"This is wonderful! The Tesseract has shown me so much. It's… it's more than knowledge – it's truth," the mortal exclaimed as Loki approached the clear strips of plastic that partitioned the portal stabilizer from the rest of the lab, his eyes filled with the glow of the sceptre's influence.

"I know," Loki responded with a surprising lack of malice, his tone almost gentle. "It uh… it touches everyone differently," he smiled fondly, imagining the glorious uses he would have for the otherworldly being he had regenerated from the power of the Tesseract. He could not imagine a more divine gift than a powerful spirit bound to obedient flesh, bestowed upon him by the clarity of the Cube.

"What did it show you, Agent Barton?" he asked the assassin he had pulled from guard duty in order to help coordinate the god's next movements.

"My next target," the archer said, his expression as placid as ever.

"Stick in the mud, he's got no soul," the doctor chuckled while the enslaved SHIELD agent glared at him in annoyance. "No wonder you chose this-this tomb to work in!"

"Well, the Radisson doesn't have three levels of lead-lined flooring between SHIELD and that cube," he responded with unexpected sass as Dr. Selvig nodded and smiled sheepishly.

"I see why Fury chose you to guard it," Loki said, his pale eyes watching the assassin. It was also why he had assigned the agent to watch over one of his most prized possessions.

"You're going to have to contend with him, sir," Agent Barton informed the god as they began to walk through the lab's center towards the staging area, where technical equipment was already being loaded onto the van which would soon transport the Tesseract to its final destination.

"As long as he's in the air, I can't pin him down," the skillful mortal continued. "He'll be putting together a team."

"Are they a threat?" Loki asked guardedly, looking down at his mind-slave.

"To each other, more than likely," came his unworried reply. "But if Fury can get them on track, and he might, they could throw some noise our way."

"You admire Fury," the Asgardian remarked, peering at the assassin appraisingly.

"He's got a clear line of sight."

"Is that why you failed to kill him?" Loki inquired, his tone bordering on displeasure as he walked past the assassin, who had paused in his own stride.

"It might be. I was disoriented. And I'm not at my best with a gun," Barton responded, watching the Asgardian as he began to pace like an agitated predator under the dreary lights of the abandoned underground system, his face lit from above with a bleak glow.

"I want to know everything you can tell me about this team of his," Loki spoke in a low voice, his hungry expression further intensified by the harsh lighting. "I would… test their mettle. I grow weary of scuttling in shadow. I mean to rule this world… not burrow in it," he finished, disgust in his voice for having to hide like a common criminal.

"It's a risk," came the blasé response from the assassin, as unaffected by the idea of Loki raining destruction upon his world as he was by anything else.

"Oh, yes," said the god, his mouth forming into a gleefully demented grin.

"If you're set on making yourself known, could be useful."

"Tell me what you need," Loki eagerly responded. He would attempt any task to move his plans forward, as the dank earth and the oppressive air of the tunneling system made him feel that he would soon suffocate. His disembodied dialogue with the Other continued to haunt his thoughts – at the way Thanos' Vizier had made his threats clear when Loki had dared to speak back to him, having grown confident in his possession of the celestial being, unbeknownst to the Chitauri's Master.

Knowing that he was hiding something quite significant from his allies, something that could possibly thwart any attempt of betrayal on their part, made his confidence grow to a point that clearly displeased the Other. Which would inevitably displease Thanos.

Loki should have been more concerned about causing dissatisfaction with his "associates", but he found it only made him more arrogant in his pride. While the celestial being and the Tesseract remained in his presence, Thanos could not touch him.

The god would bring order and obedience to Earth, and he would eventually give Thanos what he desired – but it would be on _Loki_ 's terms, not His.

The assassin hesitated before walking to a nearby table, opening the case which contained his curiously-designed bow – pulling the lethal weapon from the molded foam.

"I need a distraction." He jerked his arm forward and the bow sprang to life in his grip. "And an eyeball."

"For what purpose?" the trickster asked, eyeing the mortal's weapon with some vague interest. It differed greatly from the golden crossbows of the Asgardian archers or the crystal longbows of the Light Elves, but he had seen the mortal wield it well enough to know he was proficient.

"Iridium, according to Dr. Selvig's specifications. Some mumbo-jumbo about anti-protons. I located a large enough batch, no problem."

"And the eye?"

"The iridium is heavily guarded at the Schafer Institute. One Heinrich Schafer's retina pattern is needed to open the vault."

Loki's face split into a vicious grin as he said, "I derive enjoyment from the way you think, Agent Barton. Parting this Schafer from his eye should be simple enough."

"Even simpler when you use this," the assassin replied, picking up a silver pronged device from a smaller case, its sharp edges almost eager for the flesh it would soon partake in. "Jam this into his eye socket, and his ocular image will be copied to its twin," Barton explained, showing a second similar device that lacked the fang-like implements.

Yes, Loki would gladly take Agent Barton's recommendations under advisement, as the mortal had proven adept and clever in his ability to improvise and bend any disadvantage into a boon. It made him feel something approaching respect for the human.

That is, until a pair of mercenaries Loki had sent to guard the celestial being returned, their expressions closed off and tight.

"Sir! She's gone. The room was empty when we arrived."

In a flash, the god spun and grabbed the mortal who had seen Trinity last by the front of his vest.

" _Find her_ ," Loki seethed through his bared teeth, his previous genial demeanor completely shattered by the news of his creation gone missing.

"Yes, sir."

The god released Barton, whose expression had remained unconcerned despite the peril he would soon face for his negligence. Unlike the cowardly doctor who flinched whenever Loki scowled at him, the assassin never so much as blinked when Loki spat threats in his direction, no doubt due to his cultivation under SHIELD's training programs, which the god had yet to quiz him over.

Yet another reason why Loki was forced to rely on Barton's experience and knowledge regarding his enemies – he knew very little about them or the force they could bring to bear against him.

Loki's blood boiled as he watched the agent sprint from the lab, deftly moving around scientists too slow to step out of his way, bow still in hand, the other slinging the compartmentalized high-tech quiver onto his back.

The agent had barely left his sight when the unmistakable boom of a mortal weapon's discharge echoed throughout the hollowed tunnel systems. Loki's raging blood ran icy cold as an overwhelming sense of dread hit him squarely in the gut.

_No…_

The Asgardian's dread became black fear as he found himself running down the hallway in the direction of the single discharge, which sounded as if it had come from one of the floors above. He fled up the stone stairs, leaping them three at a time, the fear weaving its way down the back of his spine as he soon heard raised voices, unmistakably argumentative as they contended with a quieter, steadier tone.

Loki swiftly arrived on the landing where he had heard the echoing voices, and he veered around the corner to see three mortal mercenaries in black, standing side by side, their faces drawn and pale. Agent Barton stood facing them, his back to Loki, his bow held loosely by his side as he bent to examine…

There was a body on the floor, lying face-up. Black boots, pale legs, and glimpses of grey fabric were all he could see from this angle.

Loki did not figuratively see red, he actually saw the bright, bloody hue in his vision as he strode forward, honing in on the first mortal who dared open his mouth to offer banal excuses for their indefensible crime.

"I didn't know, I swear. W-we thought she was-"

The god snatched the man around his neck, lifted him into the air, and separated the vertebra in his neck with a loud _crack_. The gesture was done with as much effort as if he had snapped a dried twig in two.

The other two mortals flinched but remained mercifully quiet, even as the god brutally tossed aside the corpse of their colleague, his ragdoll body sliding across the dusty floor as it came to an abrupt stop against the opposite wall.

Loki stared down at his creation's still form, his breath sporadic and strained, fists shaking at his side, his pumping blood deafening to his own ears.

His plans... All of his plans, laid to waste by the idiotic, half-witted, festering piles of-

"She's alive, sir."

Loki felt his entire body go stiff, his breath catching as something hard formed in his throat.

"…what?"

"She's breathing. I don't see any entry wounds, but there's facial injury from blunt-force trauma. She might have a concussion, but it's difficult to say," the assassin replied, his tone clipped and professional as he assessed the damage. "She needs to be examined by a doctor."

The Asgardian could see a trail of blood leading from a gash on her cheekbone, the area around the wound already bruising from the force of the impact.

" _Talk_ ," Loki hissed at the two men. Neither of them spoke until he took a step forward, infuriation practically radiating from his core. One of the sweating mortals broke his silence, his non-glowing eyes wild with terror.

"We saw her approach from the stairwell toward… toward the mezzanine. Payton… he fired at her. Scared her back downstairs. When we caught up to her, I recognized her. Tried to stop him. But he struck her with the butt of his rifle-"

The Asgardian's blazing eyes caused the mortal to shrink under his withering glare. His wrath was an almost palpable sensation, causing the air to grow thick and sharp, the scent similar to the after-effects of a bolt of lightning.

Loki dragged his murderous gaze from the trembling humans, turning toward the assassin as he knelt by the prone female form of the spirit. Without needing to be told, Barton moved away from her unconscious body, and Loki reached down to hook his arms under her shoulders and knees. He lifted her limp body with ease, and as he walked past the archer with the being cradled in his arms, he softly growled, " _Kill them both_."

With a movement too swift to track, the assassin brought up his bow with one hand, retrieving two black arrows with the other, holding the weapon horizontal as he notched his arrows, letting them fly. The steel arrow-tips buried into the left and right eye sockets of the men standing before him, their expressions almost surprised as the shafts were buried in the grey matter in their skulls.

Their brains had ceased to function before they had even realized the mad god had spoken.

 

* * *

 

Loki was not a healer. His mastery of a wide assortment of sorcery and spellcraft did not include the arts of healing or cleansing. He had attempted them, on several occasions, eager in his desire to master all forms of the arcane arts. His endeavors had inevitably ended in failure, as Loki did not have the _aptitude_ for nourishing magics.

What sort of mundane sorcery required becoming soft and weak in order to wield its powers? Pathetic. Only an unskilled sorcerer who did not have the will and ambition to employ the more perilous magics would become a healer. Loki had scoffed at the efforts of the healers as a feeble mimicry of authentic magic, much in the same fashion that Asgardian warriors had looked down at his own use of sorcery.

The irony had not been lost on him, especially now that he had great need for the paltry arts of mending.

How the Norns must be laughing at him, now that Loki wished he had given more consideration and had a stronger resolution to mastering a sect of magic he had thought unnecessary and cheap. He had stormed out of the infirmary where the healers and Mother had been attempting to teach him, hiding his shame at being unable to heal so much as a blemish by claiming healing was not _true_ sorcery. Even being a potion-maker was more worthy of respect than being a healer, or so he had shouted defiantly.

Now Loki felt utterly useless as he looked down at the unconscious being lying on the mat he had conjured for her previously. The laceration on her cheek was no longer bleeding, as the cut was fairly superficial, but the dark bruising around her cheekbone had spread around her left eye, giving her an ailing appearance that did not sit well with him.

The imprint of a shadow-hand on her neck also caused him to experience uncharacteristic discomfort. Her state of unconsciousness and possible head trauma had been due to the mortals' crude response to her escape, but that deep bruising along her throat was caused by Loki's own hand.

But it was not _his_ fault she had repeated the vile words of the All-Father. It was not _his_ fault she had wandered from her confinement after Loki had defined the parameters of their relationship. The celestial creature now belonged to him, and him alone, and would be required to obey his every command. How much clearer did he need to be in regards to her new place in his world?

The god should have been angry with her, and he would be if she awoke. _When_ she awoke. But there was little point in being aggrieved at one who was unresponsive, and the thought of almost losing his prized possession to the stupid, careless mortals had deeply shaken him. His plans had almost been brought to ruination by Agent Barton forgetting to lock a simple, cursed door, as well as neglecting to reiterate to the hired killers under his tutelage of the importance of Loki's creation.

Oh, he would exact his vengeance on the former SHIELD agent for that lapse in attention – but for now he needed the assassin functioning and at peak capacity for what was to come.

Even the mortal scientist had failed him when Loki demanded he attend to the wounds of the spirit's body. Selvig had ineffectually stammered while explaining that he was not _that_ kind of doctor. Loki's thunderous expression had caused the mortal to tremble and shrink away, but the god had stayed his hand.

He still needed Selvig. Still needed Barton. Still had to rely on mortals when Loki _should_ have been in Asgard, ruling the Realm Eternal as its just and chosen king.

The only being he had found worth a modicum of his attention was now at his feet, wounded, and at the moment, useless to him. It would not do.

Commanding not to be disturbed by anyone but the assassin, Loki now sat cross-legged on the floor next to Trinity's side, trying to recall the instructions and directions of Mother in his mind. She had been a skilled healer – as she had been skilled in nearly everything she attempted – and she had done her best to show him how to regrow tissue and mend broken bones. But nothing had sunk in. Even now, his memories of her were faded and hazy, as if he had not seen her in decades rather than one year.

One blurry, foggy year that seemed disjointed in his mind – accompanied by alarming holes in his memories that could not be filled. But he would not dwell on that time – it served no purpose – and it only made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as his chest filled with unease.

Loki focused back to the task at hand, peering closely at the face of the strange being he was tending. The god had never successfully mended anything in his life. There had been no need, as Thor and his friends rarely endured life-threatening injuries – though not for lack of trying.

Loki was left with no other recourse, as there was no opportunity to enslave a mortal healer, and they would need to move soon.

Stretching his arm towards her face, he took a deep breath and ignored the way her flesh was uncomfortably warm as he lightly grazed his fingertips over her cheek.

The wound was harsh and angry, an ugly mark on an otherwise smooth face. She did not seem to be in pain or distress, and her expression was as if she merely slumbered. The… woman looked so vulnerable and harmless, her gentle features disguising the impressive spirit that lay within.

Loki needed her whole and healthy while she was at his side. It was dangerous to show that one who was so important to his efforts was also so vulnerable to attack and injury.

The god closed his eyes, his palm resting against the gash with his fingers lightly covering her closed eyelid. He tried to think back to his lessons of which he paid little heed. Tried not to think of the tender voice of his mother, the way she could easily see through his constructed barriers, erected to emotionally distance Loki from everyone around him. Tried not to think about how much his traitorous heart longed to hear her voice now.

So Loki hardened his thoughts and girded his nerves, calling forth the magic which resided in his core, refusing to dwell on his brief moments of deficiency. He focused and molded the power within him, shaping his will and attempting to force his desire into reality.

The woman's body jolted under his hand, the effort of his magic too forceful as it was injected into her body, causing her limbs to tremble. He immediately halted the effort, his eyes opening in alarm.

Loki cursed himself. This was why he was no healer. He lacked a certain delicate, light touch. Impatience and forceful attempts at healing injuries often ended with the recipient acquiring worse injuries and ill health. If he continued his efforts, he was liable to cause cranial bleeding or fracture her skull rather than repair the damage the humans had caused.

Loki's expression tightened, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried a second time with more caution, attempting to concentrate his will on mending her wounds, but this time with more of his focus on coaxing the body to mend itself as Mother had shown him.

The woman's body did not tremble from the force of his magic, and that was an improvement. After a moment, he looked down at her injury, and was frustrated to see that it had done little, if anything.

_Useless, futile sorcery. It is beneath me. I was the most powerful sorcerer in the realm, save the All-Father himself_ – _what use have I for such pathetic witchcraft?_

He had great use for it, and he knew it. Flustered from his ineffective actions, Loki removed his hand from the being's warm cheek as he clenched it into a fist.

Why was this so _difficult_ for him? It should have been insultingly easy for someone of Loki's ability with the arcane and dark arts.

" _You must bond with the person you are tending to on an emotional level," Mother had gently reminded him after he had stormed out of the Healing Room. "You must_ want _them to be made whole, carrying their discomfort and pain as your own. You must be strong of mind, but with an open heart – one which is vulnerable and laid bare. Healing is as much about exposing yourself to the universe as it is about repairing bodily damage and cleansing maladies. You must wield love as effectively as you wield magic in order to mend the wounds of another."_

At the time, Loki had believed this was sentimental nonsense, pointless and utterly asinine. He had been completely convinced Mother was mistaken, and he failed simply because the healing arts had been so far beneath him that his powers could not recognize it as true sorcery.

What if Mother had been correct? What if his own failure was not due to a lack of strength or will, but from his inability to form bonds and connections with others?

The idea filled him with hot anger, his teeth gritted as he glared down at the celestial creature. This was her fault – he was not to blame for her attempt at escape. It was through no fault of Loki's that he lacked certain traits that would make his mind soft, rather than the hard steel that it had been forged into.

The blame did not rest with him. It did _not_.

Loki's dark thoughts were interrupted by the sudden entrance of Agent Barton, swiftly informing him that they were ready to travel. The agent hesitated a moment before asking, "What about her?" while his glowing eyes focused on Trinity's unconscious form.

The god stopped himself from lashing out at the agent, as it was a valid query. He could not leave her here, but was she well enough for the journey?

"She is coming with me, of course," Loki responded with far more confidence than he possessed at that particular moment, as if the answer was obvious. "If she does not awaken before we arrive, I will seize the… _expertise_ of a mortal healer," he said with as much distaste as he could muster. The primitive barbarians they called doctors on this planet had little more skill than a butcher with a cleaver, but he had no other alternative, as the Asgardian healers he had so readily dismissed were far from hand.

"Yes, sir," the agent responded, unaffected as usual by the offenses the god often slung in his presence. There was something to be said about having disciplined minions who were under his complete control, mind and body: they did not talk back or question his assertions.

Loki turned back to the woman and was about to lift her from the ground when he hesitated, his hands hovering above her form. Pressing his lips tightly together, he grabbed the blanket he had conjured for her, laid it on the floor, and carefully lifted her onto the fabric before gathering her in his arms. It was evident her mortal form was frail, and it would not do for her to awaken from her injuries only to have contracted the myriad of illnesses the humans were fraught with.

The sorcerer carried the woman through the dripping hallways, the soft orange light bathing the walls and floor in a dream-like haze. Loki would not be sorry to say farewell to this infernally depressing lair. It was a place barely worthy of the large rodents which scurried through its depths, let alone a god of Asgard.

Loki could not even bask in the fading evening light, as he and the assassin had to climb aboard one of the large, black vehicles which had been stored in an underground parking structure. Barton had informed Loki that SHIELD would be scanning for their faces from every available machine that could capture an image, including personal communication devices and traffic monitoring cameras. The windows of their vehicle were painted an impenetrable black, and he could stare at nothing but the being he cradled on his lap.

He did not hold her there for his own amusement, but Loki had nothing to secure her with, as Barton's finesse at controlling the mortal vehicle involved sharp turns and abrupt stops which sent loose objects flying.

So Loki simply held her in his grip, a vague expression of distaste on his face at the forced close proximity.

Why had the Tesseract given her such a vulnerable, defective body? What use was that to him against the inevitable wrath of the Chitauri's Master? Perhaps it had all been for naught, and his diligent, meticulous planning had already been sabotaged before it could have a chance to come to fruition.

But even now, as he looked down into her marred face, Loki could not conceive that her creation had been an act of futility. He knew, throughout his very being, that it had been the right decision, and he would reap the benefits of his scheme.

Loki did not know when, or how, this frail being would serve his purposes – he just knew she would. The Tesseract was infallible and transcendent in its infinite wisdom.

_But the Tesseract did not show you the spirit still lived, or how to bring her into creation, did it?_

The dissenting voice in Loki's head, as irritable and dangerous as it was, was not wrong. The Tesseract had shown him many glorious, wondrous planets and other aspects to the universe, but it had not shown him anything about the trapped spirit. Loki had believed it had been destroyed by the Other, and soon after his arrival to Earth, a fully formulated plan as to how to release the phantom had become fixated in his mind.

Why could Loki not remember how his thought processes had gone from one to the other – from realizing the celestial being still existed, to extracting her from the glowing orb? There had been no epiphany, no gradual formulation of a plan. He had just simply _known_ , and had not doubted the veracity of his certainty.

There were many gaps in his thoughts such as this. Areas of murkiness which did not reckon with the memories he held in his mind, spots of darkness which did not hold with close scrutiny.

As Loki looked down at the still form in his arms, he wondered for the first time – in a moment of startling clarity – if he was going mad.

_This will not end well for you, if that is the case_ , he thought silently to the creation in his arms, brushing the flat of his thumb against the angry purplish-red wound on her face.

Loki blinked in surprise. There was a tingling sensation running along the palm of his hand, and to his shock, the spirit's form stirred against his chest. She did not awaken, but now appeared to be lightly resting rather than involuntarily unconscious – her head nestling against his arm as if she were drawn to his body heat.

The wound on her face, though still grisly and unsightly, was no longer open and weeping – it was now sealed with the qualities of a wound aged several days. The skin around her cheek and eye was still bruised, but it was a faded violet shade – no longer the harsh angry shadow of black it had been moments ago. Even the dark handprint along her neck had faded to a less severe hue.

Loki repeated the gesture, running his fingers lightly across her cheek as he eagerly attempted to seize the mending powers he had wielded unintentionally. The grin which had begun to form on his face slowly faded as he saw and felt no change.

Whatever had allowed him to tap into the fickle healing arts, it was gone now, and he could not prevent the dark scowl on his face.

Despite the annoyance he felt at failing to summon the healing magics a second time, there was nothing to be done but wait and see if she healed on her own. And to make matters more irritating, Loki remained awkwardly trapped in his seat with the woman still bundled on his lap, unable to move her with Barton's haphazard driving.

The god had berated the assassin when he swerved around a corner hard enough to make Loki's shoulder jam into the door frame, but Barton had replied in a nonchalant manner that he was avoiding certain streets which were known to have "lots of cameras and lots of cops".

They could not arrive at the air harbor fast enough for Loki's satisfaction. Rushing down the Bifrost through a nebulous gas storm would have been a smoother journey than a mortal vehicle in the hands of Barton.

The trickster god opened the door and carefully lifted Trinity higher into his arms as he stepped onto the tarmac; the former SHIELD agent had parked the vehicle near the small aircraft they would be commandeering for their transoceanic crossing.

"If your flying proficiency is as competent as your driving prowess, I will no longer require your services and we shall see if you live up to your avian codename."

"Yes, sir", the agent replied obediently, pulling two black cases from the cargo compartment of the vehicle. One contained Barton's lethal bow and quiver, the other was a lead-lined case containing Loki's deadly sceptre. It had been the agent's idea to shield the weapon from possible tracking during their journey, as he suspected Director Fury would call upon the expertise of Dr. Banner to hunt down the Tesseract and Loki's sceptre by way of their gamma signatures.

Loki gave a burdened sigh. Threatening a mortal with torture and death lost its appeal when the recipient could not fully appreciate his perilous position. It was one of the reasons why he enjoyed interacting with the otherworldly creature. She valiantly tried to conceal her fear, and would have easily fooled one who was unskilled in the art of deceit. But he was the God of Mischief, and he recognized deception wherever it lay.

As he strutted confidently toward the small aircraft – which Barton had acquired from one of his mysterious "contacts" – Loki grinned down at the woman who was stirring more frequently against his torso and arms, his concern over her well-being already fading from his mind.

Yes, Loki would have her fear or her loyalty. Either would satisfy his needs.


	7. Education

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki provides the tools for the spirit's indoctrination.

As the spirit rested on the long, navy blue cushioned seat, a comforting hum beneath its arms and feet, it stared out of the circular window and contemplated how it arrived to this point.

It had awoken in this very spot, at first confused as to how it got there, then alarmed from the unfamiliar surroundings, and finally filled with panic at the memory of its attempted escape. This had not been helped by the sudden shadow of the Jotun-Asgardian towering overhead. It had shrunk back as the Loki had slowly leaned over, placing his palm on the back of its seat as he peered closely into its face.

"You attempted to run away," he said, his voice low and even, almost conversational. But it was learning to gauge his intentions rather than believe the face he presented to the world. His voice frequently disguised his motives – it was his eyes that often spoke the truth.

And his eyes at this moment were hard and piercing, trapping it in a state of paralysis.

"Why?" he asked, his inflection strangely flat, as if the answer did not matter – but his glittering eyes indicated otherwise.

"The door was unbarred," it answered with as much impassivity as it could gather, finding this a difficult feat to accomplish with the Loki mere inches away. "It wanted to explore its surroundings."

The Jotun-Asgardian did not respond immediately, though his eyes moved back and forth as he searched its eyes carefully.

The spirit remained completely still, muscles tensed to the point of breaking as it waited for him to identify whatever he sought – hoping he would find nothing duplicitous or suspicious, causing him to lash out in anger at the spirit.

Finally, his expression softened imperceptibly, and it let go of the breath it did not realize it had been holding as he slowly pulled back.

"Is that all? You need not have done so. I was planning on bringing you with me on this _spectacular_ adventure."

"Adventure?" the spirit inquired, more relieved it had passed his scrutiny than it was curious as to where they were or how they had arrived there.

"Take in the view," he stated, the corner of his mouth moving upward in amusement. "Through the porthole to your left."

Finding its interest growing despite its uncertain predicament, the spirit followed his instructions, its eyes widening as it saw nothing but a sea of fluffy white foam far below.

"How?" it asked. Even though there were several questions running through its mind at that moment, least of all how they were suspended in the air, it found its eyes wide in fascination as it studied the carpet of white froth – most likely some kind of atmospheric suspended liquid particles.

"Primitive human engineering. One of their favorite endeavors is to climb aboard perilous metal tubes and propel themselves through the air at reckless speeds, held together with little more than flimsy rivets and rusty bolts." The Loki spoke as he settled onto a plush seat on the other side of the cramped quarters. His seat faced the middle of the air vessel, rather than forward, so the Jotun-Asgardian could stare straight at the spirit while it had to turn its head to the right to look at him.

It did so now, looking over its shoulder to see the mirthful expression on his face. Unfortunately, the movement of its head caused an ache to radiate from the left side of its face. It gently touched its cheek, puzzled at the discomfort caused by its fingers grazing over the unpleasant raised area on its face.

The Loki stared at it for a quiet moment, his lips pursed together in a slight frown.

"Do you understand how close you were to death?" his soft voice inquired, pale blue eyes fixed on its face intently.

The spirit averted its own gaze as it tried to recall what had transpired, focusing its eyesight on the blue and white speckled plush carpet. The inner area of the air vessel was narrow but surprisingly comforting, all soft edges and clean colors of white and dark blue.

Its eyes grew unfocused as its mind traveled back to what had occurred when it had left its confinement.

Having realized the door was unlatched, the spirit had glimpsed through the door frame to see if there were any humans within sight. Seeing and hearing none, it had quickly traveled down the first corridor it saw. It had absolutely no inkling where to go, but it could sense the damp weight of the air, and came to the rapid conclusion it was underground and should travel away from the pull of gravity: upwards.

Soon finding rectangular stone steps, it had quickly ascended them, turning to realizing there were more steps to traverse. It continued along this pattern, climbing to a new level and turning onto a new path of steps until there were none remaining, breathing faster as its heart pounded from the exertion.

The spirit was then in a new area – different from the closed, musty corridors it had become accustomed to. It was now presented with a more open environment, a massive room with several hallways leading off in various directions, as well as several long depressions in the flooring. The smell of damp and mold was replaced by dust and abandoned civilization.

Inquisitive as to its new location, it walked further into the massive, open area, almost dome-shaped. The depressions in the flooring were several feet deep, inlaid with long tracks of metal embedded into dark grey stone.

That was when it had heard the sound of heavy footsteps, and it had turned, frozen in place as it saw the three humans adorned in black armor as they patrolled the vast chamber. It had no opportunity to retreat from sight, and at the sound of their shouts, it had turned and fled back down the stairs.

There was a deafening boom and the corner of the wall, where it had been a second earlier, exploded with a shower of white powder, causing the spirit to cover its head uselessly with its hands as it almost fell down the steps. Its frightened, primal body took over, all semblance of control gone as it fled from what it believed was certain death.

Practically tumbling down the stone steps, the spirit reached the next landing and turned to the left, panicking as it tried several locked doors. It did not gain much distance, and rough hands grabbed it from behind, shoving it against the wall. It had not realized the humans had been so close, its ears still ringing from the small explosion of whatever weapon they had wielded against it.

The spirit had looked up at the humans, wide-eyed, and the last thing it could recall were their angry faces and hard eyes. There were no memories after that encounter.

Its next moments of consciousness had been to find itself bundled in the grey blanket, a gentle rumble filling the air as it had looked up to find the Loki watching it with an expression that could have been misconstrued as concern – the odd look quickly vanishing as it had fully opened its eyes.

"What has become of the humans who caught it?" the spirit asked, lifting its eyes from the benign carpet to the dangerous gaze of the Jotun-Asgardian. He returned the look by elegantly raising one eyebrow.

"They're dead, of course," he remarked casually, his tone indicating that his answer should have been obvious. "One of them nearly put a bullet in your skull, and when that failed, he struck you hard enough to render you unconscious."

_You'll either be useful, or you'll have a bullet in your head._

The spirit immediately and involuntarily shuddered, the Barton-Hawk's prescient phrase being spoken almost word-for-word from the Loki's mouth.

The Jotun-Asgardian must have seen something in its face, some sign of the growing queasiness in its stomach because his smile slowly faded as his eyes hardened like ice.

"All I have achieved thus far was almost turned to ash as a result of Barton's carelessness. You do not know how _dearly_ your untimely demise would have cost me."

At the mention of the Barton-Hawk's name, its heart had begun to pound alarmingly in its chest. If the Loki had killed the humans who had damaged it, what horrifying punishment had his mind-thrall received?

"The Barton-Hawk? Is he-"

The Jotun-Asgardian gave a small snort.

"His name is _Barton_ , not 'the Barton-Hawk'," he responded, correcting the spirit's speech. "And he yet lives. I still have use of him in a mostly functional state. Why?" he asked, his pale eyes narrowing while suspicion crept into his voice.

It chose its next words carefully, relying on its default blank expression to hide its concern for this particular human.

"It does not want another life extinguished because of its actions."

Again, the Jotun-Asgardian fixed his intense stare on the spirit-in-flesh, as if he could discern the truth simply by glaring – or perhaps he believed he could compel it to confess its inner thoughts by the nature of his intimidating presence.

Most likely, the Jotun-Asgardian simply enjoyed dominating the interactions he had with the spirit. Was this an aspect of his personality that had always been there? Or did his enjoyment of controlling and threatening others arise after his torment by the golden apparatus?

"Those mortals would still be alive if you had not chosen to _wander_." He articulated the last word in such a way that clearly stated he knew the spirit had spoken falsehoods in regards to its reasons for attempting to leave its imprisonment.

"Do you see what happens when you act against me? Some poor human is harmed in the process. Call it… collateral damage, if you will."

The spirit understood perfectly the implicit threat in his words. _Anger me, and others will suffer for it._

It slowly nodded, never taking its eyes from his.

"Say it," The Jotun-Asgardian said in a low growl, every semblance of levity gone as he stared darkly into its face, leaning forward with his elbows pressed into his thighs. "Swear you will never attempt to leave my side again."

The spirit found his wording… odd. Not the type of phrase it imagined one would use when talking about a tool or an object, which was clearly what the spirit represented to the… to Loki.

The assassin had made that abundantly clear.

The spirit did not answer for several long, drawn out seconds, and it could see the Jotun-Asgardian's patience wearing thin, his expression becoming darker the longer it remained silent. It ignored, possibly at its own peril, this slow but inevitable volatility in his emotions, as its mind was preoccupied with choosing its next words with care and purpose.

The spirit desired to state its intentions in a way that was not entirely unambiguous, and could be left open to more than one interpretation.

"It swears to never abandon you again."

Not the words he had specified, but they were the exact words the spirit wanted to adhere to his subconscious. Past the damaged psyche, past the broken thought processes, was there some part of him still whole that would hear and understand?

There was something there, in his eyes, almost too quick to recognize. A fleeting look of surprise, of something else unknown, but it was swiftly concealed with an expression of smooth detachment.

"That is acceptable," he stated, his tone hinting at indifference, but his eyes strayed from the spirit as he appeared distracted with thought.

The spirit waited for him to speak, which he did not do for several minutes.

"I… apologize for my earlier actions. It was unseemly behavior for a King, and I realize it may have contributed to your need to… leave your quarters." The Jotun-Asgardian watched its face closely, and it did not react, suspecting it was some sort of trap or ruse. He cleared his throat, and continued by saying, "I fear I have been going about this all wrong."

Loki grew a slow smile on his face, meant to be disarming and genuine, but it could only read the expression as sly and manipulative.

"I have been attempting to force you to adopt my perspective regarding the mortals and their need for an authoritative, incontestable ruler. But you will have to take this journey voluntarily if you are to accept my point of view."

It said nothing, perplexed by his sudden change of tactics. It highly doubted it would ever agree that an army of mindless, ravenous beasts would be an acceptable outcome, as it assumed this was how Loki intended to conquer the humans. He had never specified their existence to the spirit, but it remembered their monstrous presence, greedily anticipating their entrance into the portal before the spirit had sabotaged their efforts.

It did not want to contemplate what would happen if the Jotun-Asgardian ever found out that dangerous truth.

"Think on what I have said," he said amicably, revealing his bright teeth in a smile that was anything but friendly as he half-sprawled across the plush seating he currently occupied, which was long enough that a human could comfortably lie along its length. Its own forward-facing seat could only be occupied by two beings, and it was glad Loki had not chosen to sit close to the spirit.

Being in the same quarters with the unstable Jotun-Asgardian for any length of time was unnerving, and it realized fully, for the first time, that it was forced to remain in his presence with no chance of respite.

Having sensed the conversation was now concluded, the spirit returned to staring out the window at the voluminous clouds and the curved shape of the blue atmosphere above its head. It tried its best to ignore its proximity to Loki, as well as the alarming thoughts which plagued its mind, and instead focused on the fact that it was flying through the air – high above the planet and free from the constraints of gravity. It was the closest sensation to freedom that it had achieved thus far, having been in one form of confinement or another since its "birth".

An unknown measurement of time later – it was still adjusting to the temporal concept, although its body did seem to have some kind of internal mechanism for gauging the passage of moments – it felt the hairs on the back of its neck prickle. It had not heard his approach, but he could feel the closeness of his presence as easily as it felt a change in air currents or temperature.

Sure enough, Loki gracefully folded himself directly next to the spirit, making it want to squish itself against the hull of the air vessel in order to eliminate the physical contact its leg now had against his. But it resisted this urge, knowing the act would draw his attention.

Loki grinned with high-spirits and placed a flat, silver rectangular object on its lap. It was cool, metallic, and smooth to its touch. The spirit glanced sideways into his face, but he only smiled. He wanted to force it to speak, no doubt enjoying these micro-assertions of control he held over the former-spirit.

"What is it?" the spirit asked, quickly averting its eyes back to the object. At least he was not taunting it with the sceptre, which was – oddly but pleasantly – nowhere to be found.

"Your scholarly pursuits into the human-animal," he said in a friendly enough tone. He reached across its arm, and it had to tense its muscles in order not to flinch.

If Loki saw, he did not remark on it. He merely opened the flat rectangle, revealing it as some kind of two-sided device. The upper half was a display – the lower was a series of small squares which could be depressed. The object, apparently some type of machine, was completely foreign to the spirit.

"Before we arrive at our destination, you will research man's history in order to understand the context of the… situation. The humans are a complicated lot, incredibly indecisive and fickle in their appetites and aspirations.

"This device will serve as your mentor as you analyze these… people." Loki sneered at the last word, but it refused to turn and look at his expression. It was already succeeding in not visibly trembling from the flight response his nearness evoked from its body, and it did not need to see his primal grin to know what he thought of the humans.

Loki continued to reach over its arm, showing it the ways to navigate and instruct the computing device (called a "laptop") into obeying its commands. It was relieved when he removed his hand back into his own personal space, but he did not retreat to his side of the air vehicle.

"Here," he said, and it _did_ flinch when it felt its hands on the sides of its head, placing something heavy over its ears. This drew an unkind laugh from the Jotun-Asgardian.

"They are called headphones," he said, lifting one of the devices off of its right ear so he could be heard. "They will assist you in better hearing the sounds from the prerecorded images."

It reached up to gingerly touch the coverings on its head which appeared to filter out the loud but soothing rumble of the engines. Loki stretched across its seat and pressed a series of buttons when it did not move, and it chanced a peek at his face.

Never one to miss an opportunity to cause the spirit discomfort, Loki flashed a cocky, self-satisfied smile.

"Enjoy your movies," he crooned silkily before replacing the cuff over its ear.

 

* * *

 

They were called "documentaries".

Moving images and audio inputs which told a story by entertaining, educating, or informing on a certain point of view. They were quite fascinating. The spirit was not sure what it had been expecting, but it had not been this.

Loki was making good on his word. It was learning. In fact, it was learning much more than it desired, realizing that Loki had chosen these segments of information to share with the spirit for a very specific purpose.

The first documentary was titled "Why We Fight", and it portrayed a brief history of the American war machine over the past six decades.

The humans had apparently created a political and military structure which would fuel unending civil war across the Earth. The United States government, including its own leader, lied to its people in order to position itself as the world superpower, intervening in other countries that threatened its imperial agenda.

The spirit continued to watch the flashing images while listening to the various narrators, its eyes widening as it watched the humans harness the power of nuclear energy… and use it to instantly decimate almost 200,000 civilians, most of whom wanted to surrender peacefully.

Two of the human scientists who had helped bring about this mass slaughter stood together, smiling gregariously in a black and white photo, the names "J. Robert Oppenheimer and Howard Stark" appearing along the bottom of the picture.

It could see why Loki had chosen to strike first at the human nation known as the United States. By far, it had the most military strength, and many of the other peoples of Earth had grown weary of their war-waging and their tendency to topple foreign governments not to their liking.

The spirit did not want to believe the humans were so apathetic as to let their leaders order the mass killings of innocent humans in other areas of the planet, separated only by invisible lines and arbitrary borders. A species living in this manner could surely not survive for long?

Clearly, it had to be a mistake. The documentary had to be false or misleading in some way. Otherwise, the logical conclusion made no sense at all.

But as the last half hour of the film showed, these were not lies. The piles of human corpses, scenes of blood and violence and dropped explosives, of maimed human younglings… it was not a trick. It was a brutal truth that lingered long inside of its mind, behind its eyelids.

The second documentary was shorter than the first, but it continued the theme of American "exceptionalism" and global military strength. It was an "hour-long exposé on the sordid agenda and immoral methods of the highly secretive SHIELD". According to the captions at the beginning of the film, "Behind the S.H.I.E.L.D." had never been publicly released and the journalist who directed and produced the documentary was discredited by every major news media outlet, effectively shutting down the project before it could be completed.

Despite this hurdle, the unpolished film had gone "viral" and conspiracy theories about the covert black ops government agency were very popular on the globally connected network called the Internet.

The film included interviews from anonymous sources, news clips on peculiar occurrences where SHIELD may have been involved in occurrences of supernatural origin (such as a suspicious dig site in Puente Antiguo, New Mexico, the Duel of Harlem, and the Battle at Stark Expo), and leaked information from a hacker group known as The Rising Tide. This unverified information speculated on the existence of high-tech prisons which housed both criminals with unusual powers, and non-criminals who had the potential to be a danger to the general population. From the conversation it had had with the female human who had claimed herself as an enemy of SHIELD – it believed this information was most likely accurate.

The beginnings of SHIELD were shrouded in mystery, though there was a possible link to its founding and the creation of Captain America: a soldier who had been given superior strength, speed, and coordination by an unknown experimental concoction during the beginning of World War II. There were also rumors that the group which had been a pre-cursor to SHIELD had obtained powerful, alien artifacts from raiding HYDRA strongholds at the end of the human war.

SHIELD was compared (in terms of information gathering, covert operations, and lack of public awareness) to a United States governmental agency known as the Central Intelligence Agency. The CIA was also autonomous and had been known to overthrow the governments of other nations, as well as extradite prisoners to undisclosed locations known as "black sites".

The name of the disgraced journalist who had directed and produced the film was Amir Sadik. The spirit made a mental note of this.

"The Corporation" was the title of the next documentary. The documentary had been difficult to follow at first, as the phrases used were abstract and convoluted. It was difficult to imagine what a "business" or a "corporate enterprise" was, but it had heard these terms used in the previous documentary in connection to military spending and defense contracts. Corporations such as Lockheed Martin, Boeing, and Stark Industries were the biggest contractors for tactical missiles, fighters, bombers, and other pieces of highly advanced war technology.

The link between corporations, the global standing army of the United States, and the political structure of America were so intertwined, that it had little doubt the Jotun-Asgardian had chosen these three films with the express purpose of showcasing these connections.

The documentary explained the callous actions of corporations not only harming the world's poorest people, but also its non-human denizens. Earth animals were exposed to chemicals, either to test their safety for humans, or to increase production of their biological processes, even though such products have shown to cause harm to the humans who consume them.

The segment of the film which most deeply affected it was when corporations had legally gained the ability to "own" life. First, bits of bacterial genomes were considered under their rule, then artificially created animal species, and finally bits of human genes which could be made profitable in curing certain illnesses.

Growing more and more disquieted at the films Loki had chosen for it to watch, it had glanced up at the end of this film – so engrossed during the documentaries that it had almost forgotten it was flying thousands of feet in the air. Loki was no longer lounging on his side of the compartment, nor was he anywhere in sight, and the spirit determined he was most likely at the front of the air vessel – the only part of the aircraft that was completely concealed from view.

Its curiosity to know where Loki had departed to was overridden by its desire to continue watching the disturbingly fascinating documentaries.

The fourth and last one was curiously named "An Inconvenient Truth". The link between America's military-industrial complex, economic colonialism, and environmental degradation was now linked to a new phenomenon: global warming. Buried fossil fuels, which the United States' military directly depended on to, quite literally, fuel itself, was accelerating the temperature of the planet as well as creating more extreme weather patterns.

It was also the first time that the spirit being had seen an image of the planet it had been stranded on. It was a beautiful blue sphere with swirling patterns of white, orange-brown, and emerald green. Surprisingly, a large percentage of its surface was frozen and liquid water, and it briefly wondered why the humans were not an aquatic species.

The spirit observed with fascination as the film explained the workings of the atmosphere and how it interacted with various gases and light waves of its system star, as well as the oceanic currents that helped regulate global temperatures.

Its awe and curiosity morphed into bewilderment as the film showed political leaders denying the problems of air pollution and temperature increases. Infectious pathogens were becoming more widespread, the behavior patterns of non-human animals were rapidly changing to keep pace with the warmer seasons, and living habitats such as the unicellular coral reefs and massive pine forests were slowly dying off.

The spirit neither moved nor spoke after the film ended, staring blankly at the machine as the names of humans who had participated in creating the documentary slowly crawled up the dark screen. The ending had contained a hopeful message that humans could do something to change their predicament, but it did nothing to lessen the disquiet in the spirit's mind.

The problems the humans faced seemed insurmountable, and their efforts to combat these conflicts did not equally match the dire conditions they were confronted with.

This could not be. Loki was mistaken – he had to be. Humans could not possibly be the lost creatures he made them out to be. There was something missing, something the spirit had overlooked or had not been shown.

The spirit suddenly felt claustrophobic, trapped, entombed in an airborne death-trap that could succumb to gravity and plummet to the planet at any moment. It had to move, had to get away, had to get the hateful machine off of its lap.

Pulling the headphones off of its ears, it placed the computing device on the stunted, oval table nearby, rising unsteadily to its feet with the intention of finding reprieve from the overwhelming information needling in its mind.

Loki stared up at it expectantly, having reappeared sometime during the last narrative, a sweetly innocent smile beaming from his pale features.

"Learn anything interesting?"

"It… needs to use the restroom."

" _I_ need to use the restroom."

Staring at him blankly, it said: "Then you should go as well."

He gave a snort, the amusement in his eyes authentic for once, instead of malicious.

"If you are going to speak, you will learn to do so properly. You will refer to yourself in the first person using phrases such as 'I' and 'me'. Third person phrasing will be 'she' and 'her'."

Loki continued on, his lanky limbs displayed in a way that seemed to convey casualness and disinterest. But his pale blue eyes were always laser-sharp, forcing the spirit to make eye contact.

"And you have a name, Trinity. No more of this 'it' nonsense. You are not a table or a chair."

_What is it, then?_ it had almost blurted out.

"As charming as your quirky phrasing may be, your naïvety is of little use to me."

Standing with its fists slightly trembling, it was surprised to find an unpleasant warmth spreading to its face, especially defined around the cheeks. It suddenly desired very much to seek some other area of the air vessel and obtain solitude. It needed to collect its thoughts, and it could not do so while constantly oppressed by Loki's pale gaze.

He stared at it for a long moment, his eyes searching for something, but the spirit had no idea what it was. Or if he had found it.

Finally, with a careless flick of his finger, he said:

"Go."

It attempted not to appear visibly relieved as it left his presence, a feat it believed to have accomplished as Loki did not make comment.

The restroom was found easily enough, a tiny compartment which should have made it feel confined, but which felt surprisingly liberating as it was freed of the Jotun-Asgardian's surveillance.

Standing above the sink, it tried not to vomit as the adrenaline began to slowly fizzle from its body. Such a terribly burdensome hormone. Its body seemed to want to use it at every confrontation or difficult moment, making it more arduous to focus with any type of clarity.

Such a primitive body, much more of an obstacle than it was an advantage. How the species managed to survive long enough to propagate, it had no idea.

It realized it was attempting to stall its brain from contemplating the documentaries. But it was inevitable. It was already beginning to dissect them, turn them over in its mind, disseminating and absorbing what it had been shown.

It remembered the female human – the one in the damp, underground lair who had spoken of her sister. She had displayed a genuine worry and affection for her sibling, stolen by SHIELD – and this type of behavior was further reiterated in the documentary. The film had stated that SHIELD captured gifted individuals who could pose a threat, but to who or what, the spirit still did not understand.

Could the other documentaries be just as authentic? Or were they filled with untruths? Not falsehoods conjured by Loki himself, unless he was able to create something of that complexity on a human computer. It was entirely possible – the spirit had little to no information about what skills the Jotun-Asgardian possessed, other than his ability to create materials with some sort of energy manipulation.

It wanted to meet humans – observe them to discover if their true natures matched those displayed on the documentaries, but it did not know how it could do so in the presence of Loki, who clearly detested the people he meant to subjugate.

If it could only eliminate the sense of growing sickness in its belly – at the possibility that humans were careless and selfish and hopelessly lost when it came to accumulating wealth and sucking the life from their beautiful planet.

Otherwise, the only logical conclusion the spirit could come to was that the humans were a suicidal species.

Its growing state of unrest was heightened to a new level as it came to a startling realization. What if the humans truly needed guidance and leadership, even if it came from an unkind hand?

What if… what if the Jotun-Asgardian was _right_?

There was only one small flicker of hope which had not been extinguished yet. Those documentaries had been created by _someone_ who was dissatisfied with the predicament the humans were in. Humans had taken the time and energy to construct those films to try to enlighten others, and there were plenty of humans in the documentaries themselves who had expressed remorse and concern over the actions of their fellow species.

It was peculiar. The documentaries, for the horrible atrocities they exposed, always ended with a message of hope. Of humans calling on fellow humans to come together and make a change in order to secure their future, instead of plowing headfirst down a path of self-destruction.

Did Loki know this? If he wanted to show how irredeemable and lost the humans were, why would he also reveal that they were capable of self-reflection and redemption? Had he done this on purpose, or had he not watched the films himself?

It had to hold on to the possibility that not all humans were such brutal, selfish creatures.

Because if it was wrong, if the humans _were_ as cruel as they were portrayed to be, than a rampaging army of insidious monsters could not make things much worse than they already were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading! I just wanted to make a quick note that while I realize the Rising Tide didn't start really gunning for SHIELD until after the Battle of New York, I think they would have had some inkling as to their existence beforehand. A big operation like SHIELD wouldn't be able to remain totally secret, no matter how careful they were, and I imagine there were lots of conspiracy theories surrounding the organization before they were fully revealed after Loki's attack on New York.


	8. Education Pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Barton talk about the Avengers Initiative, and the god extracts the assassin's innermost secrets.

Loki watched the celestial being he had created from the power of the two cosmic artifacts, fascinated by simply observing her as she attended to the documentaries he had provided. Even after concentrating his focus on her for over two hours, he found her to be an interesting subject.

At rest, she was unlike most other mortals (or even Asgardians) he knew – she did not move. She did not fidget, or shift her weight, or yawn, or express any other involuntary signals that most exhibit when they begin to grow restless. She simply remained still as a statue, her body posture semi-rigid in the confines of the seat.

The only thing that ever changed was her eyes. The dark orbs sometimes moved, and her eyebrows would imperceptibly shift at times, leaving the god to wonder what was going through her mysterious mind. Loki could have forced his way into her thoughts, as he had done with the scientist that had once been a friend to Thor, but that would not have been nearly as entertaining as coercing her into revealing her thoughts of her own volition.

But as with most things, Loki eventually grew bored, his attention span having suffered along with other qualities of his mind from the exertion of his efforts. He had yet to sleep, and it had been three full days since he had breached the planet in order to seize it for his own.

Normally this would not be an issue, as he had gone for days without rest in the past, but he could not recall _when_ he had slept last – before Loki had been given the sceptre and stepped foot on this miserable rock. He had been so eager to traverse the portal and claim the Earth as his own, that sleep had seemed a triviality compared to what was to come.

Loki could feel his body beginning to suffer for this lax care. His joints creaked and his bones ached, but he could not rest. Not yet. There was one issue left to address before his first presentation to Midgard as their new King.

Casting a long glance at the stock-still woman whose eyes continued to remain fixed on the glowing screen, the god stretched out his sore muscles and rose to his feet. Trinity did not look up or take note of his movements, and he estimated that she would be too enthralled with the mortal narratives to endanger herself again. Loki had made sure this time, enchanting every airlock so she could not plummet to her death – not that he believed she was _that_ desperate to escape him.

The god confidently strode to the front of the aircraft, pulling the latch and opening the narrow door that separated the cockpit from the rest of the aircraft.

Agent Barton was at the helm, his focus remaining on the control console as Loki shut the door behind him. Without a word, the god took a seat next to the mortal, his weary body finally quieting its various complaints as he settled into the plush seat.

Loki was beginning to realize how much mortals desired soft objects to rest and recline on – no doubt because they were such a soft people that avoided discomfort and conflict whenever they could. A species that fragile would be almost insultingly easy to conquer.

“I must admit, I am pleasantly surprised by your piloting skills, Barton,” Loki said evenly, watching the human as he guided the aircraft towards their final destination.

“Thank you, sir,” the assassin replied, his glittering azure eyes remaining fixed either on the instruments or simply out into the clear blue atmosphere, the ocean almost too far below to perceive.

“You have also done well in regards to the film recommendations you made for Trinity’s… education.”

“Thank you, sir,” Barton repeated, almost robotically, and the god was disappointed that the resistance he had shown earlier had apparently been snuffed out.

When Loki had approached Agent Barton before the woman’s attempted escape, while they were still in the underground, he had been flustered and flummoxed as to how he could bend her will to his own without using the brutish force of the sceptre. The god was knowledgeable enough about the mortals to despise their cowardice, but he lacked the time and the proper tools to try to convince the spirit of the legitimate flaws of the humans in the short time frame he had available to him.

That had been when the assassin had suggested the films – short snippets of narration and information meant to tell a specific point of view. Barton had even had a short list of suggestions, and it had been simple enough to find a computing device that would project the digital images once they could travel aboveground.

Loki had been stunned by the simple beauty of the idea, and he had asked Barton how he had come to this revolutionary conclusion.

That had been when the assassin, for the first time in his enslavement, had shown resistance. His glowing eyes had grown hard and his jaw had become taut, the muscles flexing in a stubborn refusal to answer.

At first, Loki had been too surprised to react angrily. He had believed resisting the sceptre was out of the realm of possibility – that its inescapable powers were beyond defiance. And yet… this single mortal was clearly fighting its influence with every fiber of his being.

“Barton…” the god had warned in a soft tone, more curious about the human’s refusal to answer than affronted by his act of rebellion. “Where did you get the idea?” At the human’s continued struggle against the sceptre’s power, Loki _did_ begin to grow impatient.

“Answer me, mortal. Do not force me to coerce the truth from your tongue. I promise you will not enjoy it.”

The god knew when the agent’s will was broken, as his muscular shoulders slumped and the fire in his eyes was promptly extinguished, the glow of the sceptre’s influence in his orbs the only thing remaining.

“My wife.”

The god had raised his eyebrows. The archer was just full of surprises.

“You are wedded?”

“Yes,” Barton answered, his tone devoid of emotion as he exposed the secret he had struggled to protect from the awareness of the god.

“What is her name?” Loki inquired, more fascinated by the life of his mind-slave than he most likely should have been.

“Laura.”

“Curious that you did not mention her before.”

“You didn’t ask,” the agent replied, and though his words appeared confrontational, his tone remained obedient.

“Then I shall ask now. What else are you hiding from me?” the god had demanded with a feral tinge to his voice.

“We have… children,” Barton replied, the tightness in his jaw returning as he once again seemed to fight against the sceptre’s enslavement. The strength of his willful heart was something to behold to the Asgardian.

“How many? Tell me of them.”

“Two. A son and a… a daughter. Cooper and Lila.”

“How old are they, Barton?”

“Seven and three,” the agent replied, a curious vein appearing on his forehead from the strain of being forced to reveal the existence of his family as he continued to fight against the god’s questions.

“The ferocious hawk has chicks in the nest,” Loki had remarked with a growing smile, one filled with unpleasant malice. “Perhaps I will see these hawklings for myself, when you have finished aiding me in conquering your planet.” Loki’s grin only widened as he regarded the assassin with macabre cheerfulness.

“I should like to meet your beloved, as well. See if the mother hawk is every bit as deadly as her mate.”

The mortal’s expression remained blank, though there was a tense undertone in his features, and the god did not miss the sudden clenching of his right fist. Loki had merely grinned and left the archer with instructions to begin educating his celestial captive with a basic understanding of language and letters, giving the agent one last amused remark before he departed:

“I trust you will be patient with her. It should be a simple enough task – treat her as if she was one of your own offspring.”

Perhaps that last remark, meant to be a jab at the assassin, had been the god’s own error. Perhaps it had been perceived as permission for Barton to leave the door to Trinity’s quarters unsecured. Perhaps the mortal had simply been obeying his instructions, finding a loophole with which to free the spirit-woman, as he would have done for his own progeny.

The mortal was clever, and Loki did not plan on making the same mistake again. He would leave no room available in which Barton could further defy the god in any possible manner.

“Tell me about these powerful mortals you mentioned earlier – the ones Fury shall be summoning to his side,” Loki commanded, his mind returning once more to the human aircraft as it made its journey across the Earth. “I wish to know their strengths, and more importantly, the chinks in their armor.”

“Director Fury will most likely reactivate the Avengers Initiative,” Agent Barton began, his tone of voice returning to the quality of professionalism he used when the god called on his skills as a spy. It was curious that he was willing to give Loki all of SHIELD’s deepest and darkest secrets without any qualms, but when it had come to the assassin’s family, he had reacted with such resistance that the god had found it almost admirable.

“There are four potential candidates, though one was rejected and another replaced.”

“Tell me everything.”

“The first entrant is technically Steve Rogers, also referred to as Captain America, though he was not available until fairly recently due to being trapped in a glacier in the Arctic. Born on July 4th, 1918. Rogers’s father was killed in World War I before he was born, and his mother also died when Rogers was young, from tuberculosis. Rogers attempted to join the army during World War II but was rejected due to his small stature and frail health.

“He joined Project Rebirth and was injected with a serum designed by Dr. Abraham Erskine that completely changed his physicality, giving him highly advanced strength, speed, agility, and hand-eye coordination. His standard weapon is a specially-crafted circular shield made out of steel and Vibranium, a meteoric ore from the jungles of Wakanda.”

“How did he come to be in the ice?” Loki asked, his elbow leaning against the armrest as he propped his chin into his palm, watching the assassin intently as he spoke.

“Rogers sacrificed himself in order to crash the Red Skull’s airplane into the Arctic, as it was on a deadly trajectory to New York City. The ship had also been transporting the Cube, which is how the Strategic Scientific Reserve eventually got ahold of it. They would one day become SHIELD, though we had only recently begun to explore the Tesseract’s unlimited energy potential.”

Loki mused for a moment before stating:

“I always wondered why Odin left the Tesseract on Earth where the humans could easily find it. Though I suppose his negligence is now my advantage.” The Asgardian thought to himself for a moment before asking, “This enhanced human survived the ice? He is mentally and physically intact?”

“As far as we can tell. Despite being frozen for sixty-six years, he was the picture of health once he was defrosted. Although, it is possible Rogers may have psychological trauma due to his near-death experience, as well as waking up in a world that has left him behind.”

“This Captain seems to believe he is a Messiah figure.”

Agent Barton nodded and said, “That was the impression Fury had, and he plans to use it to his advantage. Unfortunately, it may be his greatest weakness. Rogers was especially affected when he was unable to save his childhood friend, Bucky Barnes, from falling to his death during the war against Hydra.

“Rogers was also close companions with Agent Margaret “Peggy” Carter and Howard Stark. Stark was killed under suspicious conditions, along with his wife, and Carter is now an old woman nearing the end of her life and suffers from Alzheimer’s disease.”

“A savior who is unable to save his friends. I can see how that could cause a man to break,” Loki remarked, the ghost of a smile reflected on his face.

“His greatest asset may not be in his fighting skills, but in his ability to evoke unshakable loyalty. He’s what you would call a natural-born leader, and he can inspire others to follow him into battle, and even death.”

The god’s expression was deep in thought as he stared past Barton to the blue dome of the sky, churning the information over in his weary but still-sharp mind.

“Is there anything else?”

“All of the candidates for the Avengers Initiative have extensive backgrounds, and it would take me several hours to go over all of them.”

“And you remember all of the details that SHIELD holds regarding these individuals? With perfect clarity?”

Barton shrugged and said, “If you ask me for specifics, I’ll be able to recall them.”

Loki was not quite sure what to make of this. Either the agent had a memory which recorded everything he saw, or the sceptre’s power was able to extract information from his mind that even Barton was unable to remember.

“Give me the concise version of their biographies – what you would consider the most vital aspects of their abilities, history, and personalities for when I am to face them in battle.”

“Acknowledged,” the assassin said with a nod. “The Captain is a capable leader who values loyalty and good deeds, but he is also a man alienated from the unfamiliar world around him. His inability to be a shield for others is, most likely, his greatest fear.”

“I will keep that in mind. Continue.”

“Doctor Robert Bruce Banner, also known as the Hulk, was born December 18th, 1969. He is a scientist in the fields of biochemistry and nuclear physics, his specialty being in gamma radiation. He was attempting to recreate the Erskine formula in 2005 when he intentionally dosed himself with the experimental formula, as well as a lethal-dose of gamma radiation.

“Instead of becoming a supersoldier like Rogers, his muscle mass increased a thousandfold, his skin became green, and he developed a volatile, enraged alter ego. Banner can eventually revert back into a normal human, but he will transform into his hulking form when he becomes too emotionally charged.”

“It is absolutely riveting how far you mortals will go to weaponize your own bodies. Is your entire species this mad, or is it just a disturbed few?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir.”

“It was a rhetorical question, Barton. What more do I need to know about this hulking beast?”

“Only that he’s the most dangerous on the roster – his strength is immeasurable and he has little to no control over his actions when he’s changed. Though he seems to do better when he has a target to focus on, like when he fought the Abomination in New York or General Ross’ forces at Culver University.”

“Fury does not seem like a man who would drop such an untamed beast amidst his well-trained hounds,” Loki remarked as he continued to stare with laser-like focus on the assassin, who did not seem to notice or mind the Asgardian’s intense observation of him.

“The Director will most likely use him to track the Tesseract, not for his abilities in a fight. His greatest asset is also his greatest weakness – he’s an unstable pile of munitions waiting to go off, equally as likely to destroy friendly targets as he is the enemy. But as long as his usefulness outweighs his risks, Fury will keep him around.”

Loki did not bother to hide the smile on his face. If the Director of SHIELD was foolish enough to bring the beast anywhere near the god, he would not live long to regret it.

“Go on.”

“Anthony Edward Stark, born May 29th, 1970, is the son of brilliant entrepreneur Howard Stark and Maria Stark – the couple I mentioned earlier who died under suspect circumstances. Howard Stark was instrumental in helping Rogers survive the experimental procedure with Erskine’s formula, and he was a founding member of SHIELD along with Agent Carter.

“Tony Stark was rejected from the Avengers Initiative due to his impulsive, anti-social, and egotistical personality. He displays possible signs of PTSD from his capture in Afghanistan, and it was there that he created the prototype for his armored suit while under duress by his kidnappers. His suit, dubbed Iron Man, was accepted into the Avengers Initiative.”

“But he was not.”

“No. My counterpart was sent to infiltrate his multi-billion dollar corporation, Stark Industries, in order to gauge his qualifications into the Initiative, and she informed Fury of her findings during an event in which Stark attacked one of his colleagues, who also donned one of his Iron Man suits.”

The god’s lip curled into something akin to a sneer. “This human sounds unstable, hostile, and selfish. I think I like him.”

Barton continued as if Loki had not interrupted him.

“Stark has recently outfitted a new power source that will run his building, Stark Towers, for at least a year with carbon-neutral, sustainable energy. The man is an inventor of genius-level intellect, but Fury did not bring him into Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S. because of Stark’s recent aversion to creating weapons of mass destruction.”

Loki’s eyebrows furrowed as he indicated to Barton that he should explain further.

“While in Afghanistan, Stark was nearly killed by a missile of his own making. Metal shards of shrapnel had lodged in his heart, and he had created a miniaturized version of his Arc Reactor in order to keep the shards from piercing his heart. It was this device that was then used to power his prototype suit, enabling his escape from his captors.

“Since that time, Stark Industries has ceased to be the largest military contractor in the world, and now focuses work on the Arc Reactor as a source of clean energy.”

“And Fury was using the Cube to begin to create celestial weapons,” Loki remarked, already knowledgeable about the project due to his influence on Dr. Selvig for the past few months.

Barton gave a curt nod. “Not something Fury wanted Stark to be aware of, though he still retained him as a consultant, and used him to sabotage the World Council’s efforts to bring Emil Blonsky, also known as the Abomination, onto the Avengers’ roster. He was replaced instead by Dr. Bruce Banner, also effectively pushing General Ross out of the Avengers Initiative project.”

“Fury traded one monster for another.”

“No,” the agent disagreed, causing Loki to glance at him sharply. “Fury replaced an unstable, highly-aggressive soldier with an intelligent, radiation physicist who would rather isolate himself than present a danger to others.”

Loki stared at Barton for a long moment, running his tongue over his teeth before responding.

“How very astute of him.”

The agent shrugged, and Loki briefly wondered how long it would take for Barton to hit the unyielding water if he were ejected from the aircraft. Surely a simplistic human machine such as this would not be _that_ difficult for the god to fly.

“Tell me what else I need to know about this Iron Man.”

“If Stark has access to his suit, he has the ability to fly and shoot a concussive energy beam using his Repulsor technology, which does a significant amount of damage. The level of tech in a single suit alone is more advanced than anything SHIELD has.

“But without his suit, Stark is an emotionally-stunted alcoholic who bears the mental scars of an abusive father who showed more affection for a long-missing supersoldier than he did for his own son. Stark uses humor to ward off anyone who tries to personally connect with him, and he retreats into his work with such compulsion and obsession that his responsibilities and health eventually suffers for it.”

Loki had to stop himself from jerking in his seat, and the only sign he gave of distress was his pale fingers digging into the armrest.

“I see,” the god responded once he found his voice, forcing his hands to unclench as he steadied his breathing. There was no logical reason to be upset by this information. True, Loki had a few similarities to this mortal, but it was not as if they had anything _deeply_ in common.

Loki forced the thoughts from his mind as thoroughly as possible.

“Who is next?”

“You know him already.”

Loki’s face darkened as he pulled his eyes from Barton to stare out of the cockpit, his front teeth beginning to unconsciously chew on his thumbnail as his mood became disjointed and agitated.

“Director Fury sent Agent Coulson to New Mexico around the time that Stark was involved with the battle at Stark Expo. Fury called me soon after and sent me to meet Coulson at the site where Mjolnir was embedded in the crater.”

“Yes. I remember you as one of the mortals tasked with watching over Thor’s _beloved_ hammer.”

Loki could see the agent out of the corner of his eye as he looked confused, his eyes slightly narrowed.

“You would not have seen me. Neither your physical senses nor your machines can detect my presence when I am cloaked from sight.”

“What were you doing near the hammer?” Agent Barton asked, and Loki had to bite his tongue from cursing the mortal where he sat.

“That is none of your concern, and do not inquire into my actions ever again,” Loki growled sharply, glaring at the assassin to ensure his command was understood.

“Yes, sir,” the agent responded automatically.

“Continue,” the god demanded once he was satisfied with Barton’s obedience.

“You know more about the Asgardian than we do, and SHIELD has no way of contacting Thor, so Fury will most likely have to rely on Rogers and Stark to battle your army.”

“Is that all, then? Nothing else of import you can tell me?”

Agent Barton hesitated, his eyes unmoving as he stared out of the thick, curved window of the cockpit.

“Though Agent Romanoff and I are not officially a part of the Avengers, Fury will likely call on the skills of my partner to help in the fight against you.”

Loki could almost sense rather than hear the tension in his voice as he spoke of this agent.

“Something you wish to keep hidden from me, Agent Barton?”

The archer squeezed his hands around the control yoke of the airplane, and he did not respond immediately, which caused the god to lean forward with intense interest. It appeared the hawk’s wings had not been completely clipped. Yet.

“Another secret? Why Barton, I’m beginning to think you have not been completely candid with me,” Loki remarked, a lazy smile adorning his face.

“Natasha and I have always been… close. We met when Fury sent me to kill her, which I…. I couldn’t do. I failed to do.” The assassin took a deep breath and continued to speak while Loki stared at him, unblinking.

“Natalia Alianovna Romanoff is one of the world’s most deadly assassins, a former KGB agent by the name of Black Widow. I managed to turn her, convinced her to work with us, and SHIELD offered her a new identity. A new life. She had been trained to be a killer since she was a child, and… it was her first opportunity to be something else.”

Loki scoffed at the sudden gentleness in Barton’s voice.

“You spared her life because you found her form to be pleasing, nothing more. Do not make it sound any nobler than that.”

Barton met his gaze and did not falter as he said:

“It was not her looks that stopped me from releasing an arrow into her throat. It was… something else. Something in her eyes.” The agent shrugged and returned his glowing gaze back to the control panel. “I can’t explain it. It’s something you just have to experience firsthand.”

Loki’s discomfort and irritation were beginning to grow to an unbearable level.

“Is that _all_ , Agent Barton? I doubt this Agent Romanoff will be much of a threat to me.”

“She could be. The last thing you want to do is underestimate Natasha. She didn’t land on SHIELD’s radar because she was some half-cocked, wannabe spy.”

“How did she attract the ire of SHIELD?” Loki asked, curious despite himself.

“Romanoff was chasing a former KGB agent, someone who was planning on defecting to SHIELD. She hunted him across the ocean and finally caught up with him in Sao Paulo, Brazil. The man, Dreykov, had to stop running because of his daughter’s sudden illness.”

Barton continued to speak but there was tightness in his facial muscles, and Loki relished the discomfort he was experiencing – both because it caused distress to the mortal, and because it meant the information he was about to reveal was worth knowing.

“Romanoff cornered Dreykov in the hospital, but he had hired a platoon of mercenaries to protect him. She had no way of reaching him, so she simply burned the hospital down. Dreykov was killed, along with his daughter, and dozens of other patients who couldn’t be moved in time.”

“What a vicious _murderer_ your companion is,” Loki remarked gleefully, his dark grin trained on the human beside him.

“Romanoff is the most skilled agent and spy SHIELD has at its disposal, but she’s not the same person I found after Sao Paulo. She has a lot of remorse and regret for her past actions.”

“Oh, I doubt that. If she is as efficient and deadly as you claim, then she enjoyed her work just as any other master craftsman would,” Loki said, his tone hinting at boredom as he sat back in his seat, noticing the world outside had begun to darken. “This SHIELD of yours attempts to tame every monster it comes across, instead of unleashing their full potential. Perhaps I shall teach them that wild animals are never truly broken – they will always remain feral beasts.”

“Fury does everything for a reason,” Barton responded in a tone that was equally nonchalant. “It’s why he asked me to not only watch over the Tesseract, but Dr. Selvig as well.”

Loki glanced back to the assassin, his lips forming into a sharp frown.

“Explain yourself.”

“Fury noticed that Dr. Selvig was acting oddly while he worked on the Tesseract, so he brought me into the project and I was stationed at the Joint Dark Energy Mission Facility along with Selvig and the Cube.”

Loki felt a sort of begrudging respect for this Director Fury. Even though the mortal had no knowledge of magic or Loki’s abilities, he had somehow gleaned that Selvig was not entirely whole, and had instructed the sharp-eyed archer to watch him.

“But he had no knowledge that I would come through the portal, correct?” Loki was suddenly concerned that the humans themselves had forestalled his invasion and had somehow collapsed the cosmic gateway.

“No. Fury had no idea the Tesseract could even be used for that purpose.”

Loki sat and pondered for several minutes, until the aches and pains in his body began to intrude on his thoughts, and he carefully rose to his feet.

“Thank you Barton, you have been most helpful. If you think of anything else, bring it to my attention before we land.”

“Yes, sir,” Barton responded, his luminous eyes never leaving the controls as Loki opened the thin, cockpit door and departed.

 

* * *

 

Loki waited for Trinity to return from the lavatory after she had finished watching the films, and he heard her quiet breathing and soft footsteps before her feminine frame came into view. The spirit-woman purposefully avoided looking in his direction as he watched her closely.

He noticed she looked pale, almost sickly, a weary look in her eyes.

It was going far better than he could have expected. If they had had more time aboveground, he would have shown her all of the news channels which ignored the various human wars in order to show petty, insignificant events that meant to entertain rather than enlighten. The human information network known as the Internet would put the Asgardian library to shame with its instantaneous wealth of knowledge, and he could have shown her the extensive human history of annihilation and slaughter archived within its depths. Loki could have revealed to her everything that was wrong with humanity in the span of a few heartbeats.

They would arrive at their destination in a few hours. Trinity was recovering smoothly from her injuries, Barton would soon retrieve the meteoric metal he needed for the scientist, and SHIELD was no doubt several steps behind him as they still reeled from the loss of the Tesseract and their valued mortals. Still, the organization would be quick to gather their more powerful allies.

In fact, Loki was counting on it.

Loki smiled at her silkily, pleased with himself that he was slowly leading her to where he wanted her to be. And when she arrived at that place, she would be his. Completely, absolutely.

“I particularly enjoy the parts where the humans voluntarily allow themselves to be manipulated and used. It is so much simpler for those with stronger wills to make all of the decisions, is it not?”

Loki had expected the woman to ignore him and continue staring blankly at the ochre-colored clouds, but she turned to stare at him instead. Her eyes were… hardened. Was that… anger in them?

“Its body needs rest.”

Without waiting for permission, Trinity turned towards the window, placing her back towards him as she attempted to uncomfortably lounge in the upright loveseat.

Loki quietly arose from his own place of rest, moving as silently as a night-predator, his form graceful and almost feline as he reached over her still form.

He delighted in the startled intake of breath that was pulled from her as Loki abruptly grabbed the lever which released her half of the loveseat into a horizontal position. There were buttons which did this as well, at a much slower rate, but that would not have been as gamely.

“It helps if you recline the seat,” he breathed into her ear. The shudder it involuntarily drew from her body made him grin much too widely.

Loki knew he should not derive so much pleasure from being able to draw a reaction from the spirit-woman. But it was almost a relief compared to her stoic state in the underground complex, and her unconsciousness soon after that.

Why had Loki ever worried that she would be difficult to manipulate? Yes, she was not as pliable as most, but he would wear her down. There was no doubt in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any mistakes regarding the Avengers Initiative - there is a lot of information there, so I hope I didn't mess up too badly! Thank you again for reading!


	9. Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki prepares the spirit for their big debut.

The spirit wondered if its heart would ever stop racing, but once it had, it forced its willful form to relax and attempt to rest – a difficult feat when its body was ready to flee from being startled by Loki's cruel, yet strangely playful, gestures.

It did not understand from where these emotions were coming. It was not as expressive as Loki, with his easy smiles when he was pleased or his thunderous glares when he was not. It was not as emotive as the… as Barton either, but it was experiencing a plethora of new feelings it had not before.

Was this… typical? Was there any such standard for an entity such as itself?

These thoughts soon fizzled out, however, as it drifted into a state of light rest, lulled by the sound of the purring engines and the rumble under its feet.

Waking sometime later, staring out of the dark window at the black sky beyond, it realized it had slept for a significant amount of time. Its internal clock estimated four hours had passed.

Its dreams had been jumbled and confused, filled with jeering humans, vaguely familiar planets, and a disturbing, blue glow that seemed to consume everything it touched.

The second thing it noticed, after the darkness of the window, was the warmth covering its form. Glancing down, it saw the grey blanket had been replaced over its legs and chest.

Had Loki done this? He was the only other occupant of the air vessel that it could ascertain. But why? So that it was not exposed to the chilled air? Why would he perform such an action? His reactions and responses thus far had not indicated that he was truly concerned for its well-being – only that he wished it to function long enough to be useful.

Blinking slowly, it looked over its shoulder and across the interior space to where its captor lounged.

Loki lay stretched lengthwise along the cushioned furniture, his head turned to the side with his eyelids closed. He was… sleeping.

It could only stare in wonder.

The Jotun-Asgardian's visage seemed to have de-aged to a time of youth and innocence. The darkness around his eyes was still present, and a stray black lock of hair lay across his temple, but otherwise, he looked like a fledgling version of himself. Even his gangly limbs lent to the image of gentle adolescence, his head cradled against his shoulder as his breath remained slow and even.

There was a pain deep inside its chest, a dull ache which was also somehow jagged and sharp, seeming to pierce straight through its being. It felt like a pain of the soul, not one born of physical injury. The spirit was suddenly alarmed.

Was there something wrong with it?

There was no opportunity to contemplate its curious symptoms as it felt an unpleasant sensation in its stomach, a slight change in gravity that made it feel slightly nauseous.

Loki suddenly jerked, his eyes flashing open as he gasped for breath, his chest rapidly rising and falling in distress. The Jotun-Asgardian looked around in bewilderment before focusing his eyes on the spirit, confusion written in his pale blue eyes. There was a nakedness there, a vulnerability which he quickly shored up with his regal composure and impenetrable mask.

Once he had collected himself, Loki flashed a wide smile, gracefully pulled himself into an upright position and smoothed back his dark, slightly curled hair, as if nothing unusual had transpired.

"It seems we are descending, finally. These human vessels are unbearably and tediously _slow_. Even an Asgardian skiff could outpace these cumbersome machines."

This was the first time Loki had mentioned anything about the land which had once sheltered him. It stared at him curiously, wanting to learn to acquire more information on the home of the Asgardians.

"What is an Asgardian skiff?"

Loki gave it a peculiar look, though the spirit did not understand why. The question was a simple one.

"They are small hovercraft used either for transportation or as vehicles of war."

"It would wish to see one."

"Unlikely," he responded, though his tone was more amused than abrasive. "If you were to see an Asgardian Skiff, that would mean you were in Asgard. If you were in Asgard, you would most likely be prisoner by degree of the throne."

It slightly tilted its head as it attempted to reconcile his words.

"Why?"

His expression was no longer light and humorous, his pale eyes growing darker as his thoughts did likewise.

"It is unimportant," he snapped, the threatening growl back in his throat. It only stared at him and blinked, apparently becoming accustomed to his rapid change of mood as it felt a lack of fear at his response. It still experienced nervousness at his tone, but it was difficult to feel true fright when the image of his vulnerable face was still at the forefront of its mind.

"We should be discussing the task I assigned." Loki leaned forward slightly, his elbows braced against his legs as he held his hands loosely between his knees. No… not completely loose. The spirit noticed he had begun to scratch absentmindedly at his left hand, as if he had an itch that could not be sated.

"Trinity…"

Its eyes immediately snapped upwards and stared into his frosty orbs, wary of the darkness that tinged his voice. A slow, curdling grin formed on his face.

"What impression have you gathered of the mortals?"

It broke eye contact with him, unable to meet his hard gaze as it thought back to what it had discovered from the films. Staring at the plush blue carpet, the spirit finally spoke.

"Ignorant. Cruel. Selfish."

It looked up when it heard his dark chuckle.

"I knew you would see things my way."

"But… it is not satisfied with the amount of knowledge it has gained. It needs to understand more. The humans, they cannot _all_ be so… so…"

"Weak?" he added, his eyebrows lifted in an expression of feigned helpfulness.

"Misguided," it finished, meeting his eye to show that it was not convinced that his opinion of humans was the correct one.

Loki smirked gleefully, unable to be shaken from his sudden good-humor.

"Oh, there are a _few_ mortals who are exceptional specimens. But that's part of the problem, isn't it? These mortals are _exceptions_."

Loki stood from the furniture he had claimed for himself and began to slowly pace as he talked, his hands behind his back, his brow furrowed in thought.

"The majority are spineless curs who would rather have someone else lead, even if they be led over a cliff into an ocean."

Was… was the Jotun-Asgardian attempting to have a genuine dialogue with the spirit? This seemed to be his intention, as he paused for a moment to stare directly at it, as if he waited for an answer.

It offered no response for a moment, thinking on its reply before it was given.

"From the information provided by the recorded narratives, most humans are misled by a powerful, corrupt few." As it saw the smug expression on Loki's face, the spirit interjected, "If they were given another-"

"And who is at fault for being so willingly fooled? Who allowed these ruthless few to accumulate the power to manipulate the many?"

It had nothing to say to that.

Loki looked at it not unkindly, almost sympathetically, as if he pitied its attempts to deliberate the nature of humans while trying to contest that they were still worthy of being spared the fate he meant to give them.

"If it were not human nature to ruin all they touch, then I would not be here now to rule them."

It searched his eyes, understanding beyond its grasp.

"If they did not court war with unending lust, if their will was not so easily bent like chaff in the wind, their technology would be as advanced as Asgard's – perhaps more so." Loki began to pace again, almost agitated, not sparing a glance at the spirit as his words seemed to be focused inwards.

"The mortals are short-lived, but that gives them the impetus to advance quickly, to strive for impossible achievements before their brief lives burn out. If the humans had reached even half of their potential, the Chitauri would not dare touch them, and the Master-"

Loki's words were cut short as his throat made a strange gurgling, choking sound, his eyes wide with sudden and immediate terror as his hand flew to his throat.

The spirit stared, its heart thudding in its chest at the look of intense fear in the Jotun-Asgardian's eyes, the pallor of his face giving a sickly impression while his breath hitched in his chest as he practically clawed at his neck.

It felt a surge of conflict-driven hormones rush into its own system, and it rose from its seat, alarmed and frightened as it watched Loki contend with some unseen, unknown force. It was as if they had returned to the underground lair, when Loki had fear driven into him by an invisible power outside of the spirit's detection.

But then he was breathing. Whatever had occurred was passing, and Loki was roughly rubbing his throat as he gasped for air. It was an almost exact mimicry of what the spirit had done after Loki's last angry outburst that had ended with his fingers tightly around its neck.

"What is wrong?"

The Jotun-Asgardian stared straight at the spirit with a look of warning, but it waited expectantly for his response, unblinkingly returning the intense glare.

Loki took a deep breath and changed tactics, continuing to massage neck as he gave a shaky but sharp laugh.

"Worry not for me. All of the pieces are falling flawlessly into place. The mortals are even throwing a celebration in my honor, though they do not yet know it."

Loki walked past it and returned to the lounging furniture, smoothing nonexistent imperfections from his black and green armor as the aircraft's descent became more noticeable to the spirit's gelatinous insides.

"Where?" it asked tentatively, glancing back at the thick window to see thousands of lights spread across the ground, beautifully twinkling like fallen starlight.

When no answer came, it looked over to him and wondered at his wide, victorious grin, and what it meant.

"A small human nation-state called Germany."

 

* * *

 

The airplane landed smoothly enough, though the spirit held tightly to the padded armrest, wondering if the winged contraption would go skidding off its designated landing area.

Luckily, no such mishap occurred, and it watched curiously as Barton entered the room from a much smaller compartment at the front of the air vessel. The spirit watched him carefully, but he did not acknowledge its presence as he pulled a long, black case from a nearby latched alcove. Its stomach clenched in distress as it saw its contents.

Loki gingerly, almost reverently, lifted the golden apparatus from its holdings in the container. The azure orb glowed eagerly, as if joyous to reunite with its master, and the spirit felt the familiar, disturbing pull of the power source within the smooth oval.

"You are certain these mortals are trustworthy – that you can rely upon them?"

"They're HYDRA. So… no. But they want SHIELD's destruction as much as you – so we're golden on the iridium."

The Jotun-Asgardian gave a wolfish smile. "Then I shall see you soon, Agent Barton."

Agent?

"Yep," the human replied, picking up a second black case and exiting the compartment without so much as a glance at the spirit. Loki frowned at the seemingly unceremonious departure, muttering something which sounded like "impetuous ape."

The spirit watched this exchange without comment, expecting to leave the human vessel following Barton's exodus, except Loki had not moved towards the exit. Instead, he now stood directly in front of it, blocking its path, towering over the spirit with his physically intimidating presence.

It had not fully realized how much smaller it was than the Jotun-Asgardian. It wished, for the first time – and undoubtedly not the last – that it had been created with a larger physique.

"Hmmmm." Loki hummed in the back of his throat as he put his finger under its chin, tilting its face upwards as he examined it closely.

As with most physical contact it had experienced in its short existence, it found this to be very, very uncomfortable.

Loki seemed to sense this, and the corner of his mouth curled slightly.

"Your attire is not fit for a gala, even if it is only a mortal event. You should be mysterious, intriguing, and formidably beautiful."

He turned its head to the side, examining its marred cheek as he said:

"Or at the very least, presentable."

It was about to express its wishes to be left as it was, but its jaw was clenched in fear as Loki brought his sceptre forward. But he did not wield it, or use it to threaten, but placed it on the flat wooden stand where the small computer also resided.

"Let us see what we can do…"

The spirit watched him curiously as Loki made a small flourish with his hand, and it could almost feel the manipulation of light and mass settle on its body like a light layer of dust, solidifying into corporeal fabric.

It felt its hair twist upwards, away from its back and neck, and perch on the back of its head, feeling slight pressure as some unknown object held it in place. The spirit almost stumbled forward as the flat boots on its feet were replaced by black, reflective footwear with a sharp point on each heel. They felt clumsy and awkward, and made the muscles in its legs tighten to a level between discomfort and irritation, but it did give the spirit added height.

But the garment which covered its physical form – _that_ was an object of intense interest. It was glittery, black, and amazingly soft and silky against its bare skin. It ran its fingers over the thin fabric, finding pleasure in the smoothness in the material.

When it brought its eyes back up to the Jotun-Asgardian, wondering at the purpose of the aesthetic illusion, it paused.

Loki was staring at it in a very peculiar way. As if he was confused or unsure, or perhaps lost in the midst of his thoughts.

"This will suffice," he said dismissively, his glib comment at odds with the strangeness in his eyes.

He lifted the hateful sceptre and walked briskly towards the circular hatch in the side of the air vessel, pausing as he looked back to the spirit.

He held out his hand.

"Come."

It did not move. His extended hand seemed as treacherous as the sceptre, with its alluring appearance but its ability to bring forth pain.

"You want to gain knowledge about the humans of Earth, do you not? This is your opportunity – to see for yourself how they squander and cheapen their brief lives."

A chance to travel out into the human world? Was it a trap? A ruse?

It was left to wonder, once again, at his odd actions. What purpose would there be in bringing the spirit to observe the humans? If it was nothing more than an instrument to be used by the Jotun-Asgardian, then why was he making such a concerted effort to shape and mold its opinion of humanity?

Loki's actions and words were paradoxical. Inconsistent. Contradictory. The impression it had been given was that it was no more than a tool. If this was true, then why was the wielder attempting to convince the tool that its use was warranted and justified?

It should not have been tempted by his words. It should not have wanted to yield to such things. But its nature had always been one of curiosity, and if it wanted to discover the puzzle that was Loki of Asgard and Jotunheim, it would have to take the risk.

It took his hand.

The spirit was unsure what it had expected to happen, but nothing drastic took place. His palm was warm and surprisingly soft, and when he firmly gripped its hand and pulled it along, it did not resist.

Descending the stairs from the air vessel in the tall, impractical shoes was harrowing, but it did not stumble nor fall, and it was reluctantly glad for the Jotun-Asgardian's steady hand.

The spirit came to a standstill with its body frozen in place as it looked skywards, its hand slipping from his warm grasp as its eyes became as wide as possible. Not in fright or dread, but in total and complete wonderment.

It could see only a pitiful number of them, perhaps in the hundreds, but they were there. Calling, whispering, and holding the spirit in their snare as easily as the sceptre held the humans in its trappings.

"What?" Loki questioned with brisk annoyance, obviously irritated by its abrupt halt.

"The stars," it said softly, its eyes captivated with their distant but beautiful light.

"What of them?" he asked, his tone more confused than angered.

Instead of answering, its lips pulled upwards at the corners, and it smiled for the first time.

"They are beautiful," it almost whispered. The spirit half-expected the Jotun-Asgardian to find this distraction trivial and childish. Surprisingly, he stayed silent.

Something was welling in its chest – similar to the ache it had felt before when it watched Loki's vulnerable state of slumber, but less painful and much more pleasant. It was a comfort, knowing the stars were still there in the universe, shining above its head rather than spread around its form like a dimensionless sea of lights.

But then… the pleasant ache began to deepen, sharpening into a pained wound that was unseen but palpable. Its wonderment became an empty gnawing in the middle of its chest. It felt a distinct yearning to return… home.

This was the first time the spirit realized how truly alone it was. It was stranded on a strange planet filled with stranger creatures, cut off from everything it had ever known or experienced, trapped in a body that permanently separated it from connecting with other beings by solid barriers of flesh and blood.

Its loneliness and isolation was layered in ways it could not articulate, even if another being had been willing to listen to its thoughts.

The spirit could have watched the stars for the rest of the night cycle, staring at the multitude of interstellar bodies which graced the night sky of Earth, mentally tricking itself into believing, even for a microsecond, that it had returned to its limitless territory and capered with the other carefree spirits. To return to a state where its sole existence had been to play with unfettered freedom, caring nothing for wars or invasions or moral quandaries.

At least, that was what the spirit told itself. The truth was far more complicated, as evident by its decision to interfere with the Jotun-Asgardian's fate in the void. It had cared enough then to react on his behalf – it would be untruthful to feign disinterest now that its situation was uncomfortable and inconvenient.

The spirit's distant thoughts were interrupted by a light touch on its arm. It automatically flinched away, its head snapping to the side at the one whose touch it had felt.

It was Loki, of course, but the spirit had nearly forgotten his presence as it had become entangled in its own mind. Its eyes slowly widened as it stared in wonder, much as it had stared at the constellations of Earth.

Gone was his semi-roughened battle armor, comprised of black and green leather and gold metal. In its place was long black fabric that covered his arms and shoulders, hanging down to his ankles. There was another layer of dark fabric underneath that covered his upper and lower halves, a white garment that covered his torso, and an off-white strip of soft material with odd green patterns hung loosely around his neck.

Even the bladed apparatus had been transformed into a shortened, benign rod, though the tip was embedded with the azure glow of the orb – a constant warning of the threat which it and both its wielder possessed.

But Loki, he looked… more elegant and less intimidating. Though in truth, both qualities were never absent in the Jotun-Asgardian.

"Come," he said pleasantly, taking its arm gently in his grip, ignoring the way it flinched at his touch. "The main event does not begin until we arrive."


	10. Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spirit discovers the joys of fruit, and Loki crashes the party in Germany.

The spirit had not known what to expect from the human place called Germany, but it certainly had not been the enticing lights, the beautiful structures, and the graceful-looking humans.

When it said so, as they traveled in a ground vehicle toward their destination, Loki explained that Germany was the country, and they were entering a city called Stuttgart. According to the Jotun-Asgardian, they were going to be "honored guests" at a celebratory event attended by "the very wealthy to assuage their guilt over accumulating their silver and gold through exploitation and debasement".

A few moments prior, the spirit had been forced to watch as Loki shackled a human's mind at the air terminal. This had been the first time it had actively seen the sceptre wielded on another being, and it observed warily as the azure orb flared to life. Loki pressed the tip of the blade into the human's chest, blue veins traveling up the neck while tendrils of golden energies floated in the air, their ends sticking against the human's temples. His eyes had briefly filled with pure darkness before displaying the crystallized blue that was the signature of Loki's mind-thralls, while the golden threads retracted back into the orb to return to their source: the mind-jewel.

Its expression of pity for the human was concealed rather poorly, as Loki frowned in its direction with his pale eyes narrowed dangerously, obviously displeased from its reaction. But this show of intimidation was not as effective as it had been previously.

The spirit had surmised after its endangerment by the armed humans that it was too valuable to destroy without cause. His obvious concern for its wellbeing, though it came from a twisted origin, was a strong indication that he would not severely harm the spirit.

This conclusion was based on a pattern of behaviors, but if Loki's actions were driven by madness and his mind was truly twisted beyond logical thinking, then the spirit would never be truly safe while in his custody regardless of his intentions.

The most intelligent course would be to remain passive and follow his instructions, but it balked at the idea of being obedient to the Jotun-Asgardian. Of being another of his thralls. It was captive to Loki's whims and impulses, but that did not mean it had to feign approval of the cruelty his actions wrought.

Its thoughts were interrupted once the human returned with a long, sleek, jet-black ground vehicle, which Loki pulled the spirit into with more force than was required. But it bore this in silence, having no other choice unless it wished to agitate him further.

The interior of the vehicle was deceivingly large, and it did not have to sit near Loki due to the open space. Disturbingly, when it took a seat as far away from the Jotun-Asgardian as it could, he simply followed and sat adjacent to the spirit.

It had noticed he did this often, but only to the spirit. Loki rarely stood near his mind-thralls, the few it had glimpsed in its captivity. In fact, he had seemed aloof and distant, even repulsed when it came to the physical space he shared with the species he sometimes referred to as "mortals".

When it came to the spirit, Loki seemed to not care if it wanted a space of its own or not.

The spirit was relieved when their journey came to an end. Staring out of the darkened windows at the glittering city occupied its attention, but not enough to fully distract it from the pale gaze of Loki, whose presence seemed to stifle the very air inside of the transport.

The mind-thrall brought the vehicle to a halt in front of a grand structure with white columns and multicolored lights, illuminating the façade with a rainbow of dazzling lights and elegant banners which immediately entranced the spirit.

This seemed to amuse Loki, and he took its arm with more gentleness than he had shown previously as he pulled it from the vehicle, the mind-thrall obediently holding the door open. The spirit watched the enslaved human with apprehension, but its attention was pulled away by Loki's words.

"Come. See with your own eyes and not through opaque glass."

As the spirit fully viewed the creatures who walked past in their resplendent garbs, it studied them in open curiosity. The magnificence of the humans surpassed even the glittering structure they were flocking towards. They wore elegant, flowing garments, and the females seemed to be especially dazzling, winking jewels and gems hanging from their forms.

"They are… beautiful," it said in an expression that was almost identical to the way it had shown its wonder of the starry skies.

"No," Loki dissented, though his voice was neither cruel nor angry. His fingers uncoiled from around its flesh and in a curious gesture, he weaved its arm under his so they were linked together. Without any explanation, Loki led it toward the vast arch where the humans were slowly filtering through, the sudden closeness of the numerous and fragrantly-scented bodies causing it to hesitate. Loki continued to move forward, his other hand placed firmly on its trapped arm as he forced the spirit to keep pace with him.

It noted other pairs of humans were physically bonded in the same manner, mostly males and females, though this was not always so. It assumed the gesture was one of benign affection, though in the spirit's case, it knew Loki used it as a cover for his unyielding control.

The Jotun-Asgardian's actions were never affectionate, nor benign. Had he once been capable of such gentleness, in the time before the never-ending darkness?

They fully entered the ornate building, and instead of following the crowd of shimmering humans to the larger, grander room, Loki led it into a side antechamber. The space appeared to be some sort of waiting room, with severe-looking green vegetation decorating each side of a…

" _We_ are beautiful," the Jotun-Asgardian responded in its ear, his voice low and silky.

Two elegant, statuesque beings stared back through the room-length mirror. One was svelte and refined, the other shapelier and almost completely unrecognizable.

The spirit glanced first at Loki, his pale eyes glittering as he drank in their reflections with a look of satisfaction. Once it shifted to its own reflection, it could not pull its eyes away.

Its black hair was twisted up and folded on the back of its head by a device it could not see. A delicate layer of tiny prisms which reflected a rainbow of hues hung from a thread around its neck, which it had not noticed before and was too light to feel against its skin. Its garment, which it had found impressive before, was now glittering like living starlight, the fabric layered upon its body to accentuate its shapeliness. A sharp cut down the front of the fabric revealed pale skin and displayed just a hint of the curves of its chest, which appeared to be a feature only the females of the species possessed.

Even the still-unfamiliar face was strangely alluring and appealing. Its dark eyes appeared to glitter with a lightless beauty, its cheeks shadowed in a fashion which highlighted its facial structure. There was a subtle color around its eyes, and it realized Loki had done more than merely manipulate its manner of dress. He had also augmented its natural features to become more enticing while hiding the evidence of its previous violent encounters.

The spirit's wounds were completely concealed, both the injury to its face and the discoloration on its neck. It was a far different being than the pale creature in the subterranean restroom, staring at its own reflection with hollowed, flat eyes.

Loki seemed far too pleased with the amount of attention it paid to its image in the room-length mirror. But he had not been wrong. There was something about the pair of them that seemed to set them apart – even the humans seemed to sense this. As he led it back to the entrance room, down the blood-red carpeting toward the main space, they seemed to subconsciously avoid walking too close to the Jotun-Asgardian and the spirit.

Loki did not lead it into the main room proper, but near an array of seated humans who were coaxing melodious, lyrical, harmonious vibrations from instruments large and small alike. Deft hands and thin, delicate tools weaved an enchanting spell into the air.

"Enjoy the music, my dear, and I will return shortly."

The spirit almost did not hear his words as it focused completely on the dulcet, melodic tones, letting the rhythmic sounds wash over its senses.

It nearly forgot to breathe.

This was life made audible, beauty crafted into acoustic vibrations, emotions intensified from aural perceptions. The sounds which filled the air were reminiscent of the vibrations a star made, though a being would have to have the right sensors in order to witness the vibrations for what they were.

It could close its eyes and glide among the stars, ignoring its frail body as it was transported across the universe to the cosmic playground from whence it came. Its imagination was taken over and its senses almost intoxicated as it drank in the powerful experience.

Its jubilant reverie was broken by a human's inquiring voice, causing it to open its eyes and stare blankly at the male who had spoken.

"Verzeihen Sie, gnädige Frau. Möchten Sie die Mini Crab Cakes und den Salbei und Thymian Frikadellen zu versuchen?"

The human was carrying a circular, metal tray containing several odd-looking morsels of strange smelling food-stuffs. He wore a formal garment similar to other humans carrying silver trays of edibles.

"It does not understand," it replied, the language unfamiliar to its ears and the few phrases he had spoken not enough for it to find comprehension in his words. Or, perhaps more likely, the increased intelligence and rapid acquisition of knowledge the mind-jewel had granted it had begun to fade with time.

"My apologies, madam," the human replied, smiling in a charming manner, though there was an undertone of confusion as well. "Would you care to try the mini crab cakes? Or perhaps the sage and thyme meatballs?"

The spirit looked down at the objects on the offered tray and tried not to appear repelled by the odious smell wafting from them, not wanting to offend the human.

He seemed to understand its reluctance, and he said, "There is a wider variety on the banquet table near the left side of the hall. Please, help yourself to whatever you wish."

"You are willing to give it nourishment?" it asked hesitantly, somewhat surprised by the politeness and friendliness with which this human treated it. From what Loki had impressed upon the spirit, it would not have expected them to offer sustenance, let alone for nothing in return.

"…yes, madam," the male responded, his smile seeming to falter as he stared at it with something that bordered on concern. "All of our guests are welcome to partake in our exquisite cuisines and delectable desserts on display."

The spirit hesitated, slowly realizing it did not know how to socially connect with humans. Loki had merely wanted to teach the spirit how to hate them, not how to communicate with them. By assessing the expression on this human's face, it had already erred in some way.

"It will ingest what you have generously offered." The spirit paused, before adding, "You are kind, for a human."

He blinked in confusion before bowing his dark brown head and said, "T-thank you, madam," before continuing to weave his way through the throng of attendees, glancing back with an alarmed look on his face.

Satisfied with its first real interaction with a denizen of the planet, the spirit left the humans playing their fascinating instruments and made its way to the area the male had indicated, staring with widened eyes at the long, elegant table laden with more food than dozens of humans could eat at once. The spirit placed its face near enough to inhale the vast variety of scents, only able to guess at the large assortment of biological edibles and how they would taste.

It did not understand the sudden odd expressions of the nearby humans, and it ignored them. What other purpose was there to having a sense of smell? To differentiate between poisonous and nourishing food-stuffs? Though it supposed at a gathering such as this, they would be certain to provide foods that were edible and not lethal to the human digestive system.

It soon discovered that the most repugnant items were often in various shades of brown and white, while the more colorful fare did not have a particularly strong smell. It paused near the brighter foods shaded in a variety of red, orange, yellow, and pink. Mimicking the masticating humans, it took a flat, hard disc, and placed some of the nourishment in its center. It then took its first bite, placing one of the small, reddish purple spheres into its mouth.

Delightfully sweet juices flooded its mouth, and it almost exclaimed out loud its sudden surprise and enjoyment at the pleasant experience. It inserted another of the round sweet things into its mouth, hardly having swallowed the first.

Human foods were wonderful! Why were not all of the assembled humans feasting on such delights? Surely there was nothing else as pleasurable and engaging at this gathering than eating all of the delicious edible materials?

It truly pitied the humans for having such incorrect priorities.

The spirit began to draw more glances as it pushed an orange, crescent-shaped edible into its mouth, its stomach suddenly proclaiming how ravenous it was as it began to swallow, juices dripping down its chin. It could not remember when it had eaten last. A solar cycle ago? More?

Next it tried a small, red item covered in what it believed were tiny seeds. As soon as it bit into the luscious food, it _did_ give an exclamation of pleasure. Tingling sensations ran along its tongue as it almost drooled from the sudden flow of saliva. The humans openly stared now, but the spirit did not care as it shoved another succulent edible into its mouth.

Gasps and shouts of alarm suddenly slashed across the distant ethereal melody, and it paused in its current endeavor to fill its stomach with as much sweet-tasting sustenance as possible, its eyes following the line of sight of every still human in the room.

Standing in the middle of the hall was tall, elegant Loki. He was holding down a squirming human, pressing the male against a cracked statue of an Earth creature. The Jotun-Asgardian retrieved a silvery, clawed instrument from inside of his clothing that it had not noticed before, his pale eyes cold and hard.

As the instrument opened to reveal a blue light with spinning, sinister blades, its eyes widened and it swallowed, hard.

Loki plunged the device into the human's eye without a moment's hesitation.

The pandemonium was instantaneous. Dozens of panicked humans, like a stampede of terrified prey animals, moved as one towards the front entrance.

The spirit placed its half-empty plate onto the banquet table and slowly walked towards Loki. Until it saw the red. All of the red, trailing down the pale stone of the statue, dripping from the gaping hole in the head of the human. The eye was still attached, but barely, ensconced in the jagged maw of the glowing instrument.

The humans passed on either side of it, as if it was parting a sea or a river, but it had its attention fully planted on the mad Jotun-Asgardian. Because surely he was mad. What could move him to such butchery, especially when he had just accused the humans of such base instincts?

Once he seemed satisfied with his actions, Loki released the eye from the now-still human, discarding the bloody device as a demonic smile crawled across his lips.

The building was now almost entirely empty, save for the unmoving form on the statue, and a second body on the ground.

Loki looked up at its solitary form and grinned perversely.

"They do flee quickly, do they not? Like beasts before a wildfire. Not a brave heart among them."

The Jotun-Asgardian moved around the blood-anointed stone, his eyes glittering as his lithe form began to shimmer.

Soft, black fabric was replaced by dark leather and dull armor, and golden metallic elegantly-curved horns towered from the tarnished helmet which now adorned his crown. A thick, vibrant green cloak unfurled from his broad shoulders, almost touching the ground as it hung elegantly along his back.

"I did promise to show you the true nature of these mortals, and I will always keep my oaths to you," he said in a low, silky voice as he walked past the spirit, who turned as he moved past. It did not resist as he reached back and placed his palm on the bare skin of its back, firmly pressing it forward.

"You will witness this truth, and you will believe, as I do, that the mortals are doomed without the bit and bridle they long for."

It did not understand this last bit of phrasing, but as they entered the open, warm night air, the wicked blade of the sceptre stretched into existence like a sickly grin, the end of the apparatus lengthening past its original size as an extra blade sprouted along the underside of the orb. As Loki raised the golden weapon to fire a powerful bolt of azure energy at an oncoming ground vehicle, it had little doubt it would soon discover what he meant.

The spirit watched the upturned vehicle slide behind them, turning forward as it felt Loki's firm hand move from its back to its upper arm. Its legs stopped moving, its feet were bound to the ground, and its entire body froze as Loki bent to speak into its ear.

"Not that I do not trust you to keep your vow to never leave again, but I shall remove the temptation from presenting itself. For your own benefit, of course."

The spirit watched him with growing panic as it realized it was truly stifled, unable to flex or move a single muscle. The conflict hormones flooding its paralyzed body made it want to shiver in distress, but it could not move. It was utterly confined within the trappings of its flesh, and its soul silently screamed to be freed.

But it was helpless to do anything but watch as Loki growled at the panicked humans.

"Kneel before me."

He had cornered the humans in some kind of pavilion, multiple illusions of his image penning them in like the frightened creatures they were. They did not seem to know the images were purely theatrical, created by Loki's ability to manipulate light energy.

"I said… _Kneel!_ " Loki bellowed thunderously, demanding absolute obedience with every ounce of his will, raising the sceptre into the air and bringing it down in a flare of blue light, his mirages mirroring his gesture in a display of profound intimidation.

It was little wonder the humans did not doubt their authenticity as even the spirit found this exhibit to be threatening.

However, as Loki was commanding them to prostrate themselves, he did not do so with the golden apparatus. He did not demand their fealty with the power of the mind-jewel. It wondered why he did not simply force them to obey his authoritative words.

As the humans, one by one, slowly and then with a dread finality began to bow before him, the answer became clear. He wanted to prove an idea: Loki did not _need_ to force them into submission. They would come willingly enough on their own.

"Is not this simpler?" Loki asked them with a deceptively kind tone, slowly wading through their kneeling forms in the guise of a benevolent leader, arms spread wide.

"Is this not your natural state?" He continued on, and the spirit watched him, stock-still as it felt its skin begin to crawl from the coldness behind Loki's words as he slowly lowered the sceptre.

"It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power... for identity."

Loki extended his hand over the kneeling mass, his fingers slightly curled as if he could hold the whole of their existence in his palm.

"You were made to be ruled. In the end… you will always kneel."

And there it was. Loki's so-called truth, laid bare on the heads of the humans.

Not one of them moved. Not one of them spoke.

But then… one human did stand. An older male, his hair sparse and white, his skin wrinkled and his back bowed. But it was bowed by age, and not by cowardice or deference. There was an observable defiance in his eyes. Pride, stubbornness, a refusal to acquiesce to the Jotun-Asgardian's demands.

"Not to men like you."

Loki gave a small chuckle, clearly amused by this lone human, and said:

"There are no men like me."

"There are always men like you."

The spirit felt some emotion stir in its chest. A small flicker of brightness. Of hope.

A hope which was quickly extinguished as Loki spoke, leaving the spirit with a growing sense of dread that filled its mortal shell as he raised his bladed weapon.

"Look to your elder, people. Let him be an example."

Loki lowered the sceptre and pointed it at the human. The wicked azure bolt flew from the sceptre and struck… a circular blue, red, and silver barrier.

The blue bolt flashed back to Loki and slammed him in the chest, knocking him to the ground.

The spirit stared in shock at the human who had easily deflected the sceptre's power. He wore strange, form-fitting blue attire which also covered most of his face, and he held a circular metal red, blue, and silver shield with a white star in its center which he held in front of the elderly human.

The blue human stood from his kneeling position, and slowly walked toward the prone Loki, who was staring up at him. The spirit could not see his face, but it was familiar enough with his behavior to easily imagine the look of annoyance and frustration that would be present.

"You know, the last time I was in Germany, and saw a man standing above everybody else, we ended up disagreeing."

As if the human was bestowing renewed courage within every human he walked past, they began to stand, one-by-one.

"The soldier," Loki remarked hotly, using the sceptre to support his weight as he rose to his feet, his curved horns proudly rising above the humans who still huddled in fear. The spirit could hear the grin in his voice as he laughed. He apparently knew of this warrior, and was not at all troubled by his presence.

"The man out of time."

"I'm not the one who's out of time," the human responded without pause, and a small dark aircraft appeared from above, hovering like an airborne predator seeking its next meal.

A female's voice was broadcast across the air, presumably from the air vessel:

"Loki, drop the weapon and stand down."

The female voice had barely given her demands when a stream of blue fire hurtled toward the flying machine, which deftly dodged out of the path of the destructive bolt.

Panic broke, and the humans scurried to their feet as they fled into the night.

The spirit remained frozen as it watched the human in blue throw his shield at Loki, striking him once more, and they began to battle as the cries and screams of the humans rent the air.

Loki briefly overpowered the impressive human, throwing him across the ground and knocking aside his disc when it was hurtled in his direction. The human warrior tried to land several blows, and was struck from behind with the sceptre.

The Jotun-Asgardian, his face fierce and void of his earlier mirth, pressed the butt of the sceptre against the back of the human's skull.

"Kneel," he demanded, hatred seething through his teeth.

"Not today," the warrior replied, undeterred and unafraid as he knocked away the sceptre, kicking Loki across his torso. The Jotun-Asgardian fell back, responding to the blow by grabbing the human across his chest and tossing him several feet across the bricked courtyard.

The spirit continued to observe the intense battle, its chest tight with anxiety at the violent conflict and its inability to move. It was startled as music began to play, overwhelming the sounds of the two fighting for dominance over the other.

The music was not the harmonious, heavenly tones of the elegant instruments from the human gala, but a blaring, heavy, jarring rhythmic vibration which seemed very bizarre considering the lethal situation.

The noise seemed to distract Loki for a moment, and the spirit looked up as a bright light descended from the stars. Its eyes widened as the light came hurdling down at an alarming speed, flames erupting from the miniature comet as it blasted Loki across the ground, the golden weapon flying from his hands.

The Jotun-Asgardian cried out as his back slammed into the steps, and the whirlwind force which had descended from the sky stood in front of him, a resolution to harm clear in its body language and stance.

The starbound creature appeared to be some sort of… metal humanoid.

The metallic being raised its arms and several contraptions and lights lit up on its forearms and shoulders as it prepared to strike again.

"Make your move, Reindeer Games."

The spirit was unsure how it happened – whether Loki's energy manipulation had faltered, or if it had done something of its own to break its invisible bindings. But it found itself rushing forward despite the precariousness of its footwear, coming to an unsteady halt in front of the prone Jotun-Asgardian, placing its own body as a physical barrier between the metal construct and Loki.

The metal being hesitated, staying the various weapons that had extruded from its armor, and a hollow voice rang out from somewhere in its body as the warrior in blue stood next to him, regarding the scene with tired dismay.

"Step aside, lady. You don't know how dangerous this guy is."

The spirit did not move or speak, instead staring down the myriad weapons trained on its face.

A low chuckle sounded from somewhere behind, and it glanced over its shoulder as Loki grinned upwards, holding his side as he attempted to mask the pain from his features.

He did, however, slowly raise his arms in submission, the golden horns and most of his battle armor fading as he dismantled his illusion.

"What can I say?" Loki remarked amicably, shrugging as he gave a lop-sided smile to the two aggressors who had overpowered him. "The women of Earth adore me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter - I had a lot of fun writing it! With the formal introduction of the Avengers we know and love, I hope many shenanigans will ensue. I hope the parts which are covered in the movie are not too tedious to read, and I try to create a lot of content that isn't shown in the film. Leave a review if you like, and let me know how I'm doing!


	11. Captured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spirit and Loki are seized by the Avengers, and the two godly brothers reunite.

The spirit was firmly guided into the human air vessel, which had lightly landed in the pavilion to collect the warriors and their captives. It had found itself, once again, under the dominance of someone more powerful and capable.

Fabric restraints were drawn down its shoulders to cross its chest, though the latch was unable to connect between its knees as this was made impossible by the nature of its cumbersome formal wear. It still wore the dazzling black material, impractical footwear, and glittering jewelry.

Apparently, the Jotun-Asgardian thought it would be more entertaining for it to remain garbed in this fashion. He also found the behavior of one of their captors amusing as he watched the blue-clad human become flustered as he fussed with the spirit's restraints.

"You'll have to sit side-saddle, ma'am. I don't think these seats were designed with evening gowns in mind."

The spirit did not comply, as it did not understand what the human was attempting to communicate.

"The mortal is requesting you move your legs to the side," Loki interjected in a smooth voice from directly across the transport where he had also been restrained.

The spirit blinked and moved its knees so they were wedged in the space between the two seats while the large human looked back at Loki.

"You will have to forgive her. She is not familiar with Roosevelt-era English."

The human ignored him and frowned briefly before moving to the front of the compartment to speak with the two humans who piloted the air vessel.

The spirit watched as the metal humanoid placed the golden apparatus into a long, clear rectangular case. The unique energy of the mind-jewel was muffled, but not completely buried. Even in its secured isolation, the spirit could sense its pervasiveness. Its connection to the jewel had not faded, and it was constantly wary of the consciousness that resided within the azure orb.

It also wondered why the humans did not react to its presence in the same manner as the spirit. Were they ignorant of its power, or were they without reason to fear the artifact as it did?

Their captors were made up of four humans, three males and a female. The female piloted the air vessel along with a male, and had fiery red hair which fascinated the spirit. It had not known humans could exist in such various hues.

The male in the blue suit had de-masked his face, staring down at the spirit with what it could only interpret as concern.

The red-and-gold metal construct, however, was merely a human wearing a suit of armor which could become airborne. He, too, had taken off his helmet, and his visage watched the spirit and Loki with a mixture of exasperation and curiosity.

"Seriously? How can this genocidal string bean have groupies?" the metal human asked as the air vessel began to ascend slowly upward, before traveling horizontally at an increased speed.

"I really don't want to know," the blue-clad human responded, running a gloved hand through his brownish-yellow hair, giving a hard stare at the Jotun-Asgardian.

"I don't suppose you want to tell us where the Tesseract is?" the human inquired of Loki, who merely smiled at him with an obvious intent to be as uncooperative as possible. He neither answered that question, nor the next, which inquired as to where he had taken the SHIELD personnel he had enslaved. The third question, which inquired as to why Loki had come to Earth, caused him to yawn and pull his focus elsewhere, as if the human was not worthy of his attention.

Discovering quickly that he would gain nothing from the intractable Loki, the shield-warrior walked over to the spirit, his hand gripping one of the holds on the ceiling as the vessel was slightly jostled from the air currents.

"What is your name, ma'am?"

The spirit stared up at him, studying his features. His eyes were a more saturated blue than Loki's and devoid of his intensity. They were gentle and earnest, and at the moment, vaguely troubled.

It could almost feel Loki watching, and out of the corner of its eye he seemed to remain perfectly still.

Though no harm had come to it yet, it was still a captive among powerful entities, and it did not know what they intended to do. The warriors had come to the assistance of the vulnerable humans against Loki, and by its actions it had revealed it wished to protect him. Surely they would automatically see the spirit as their enemy, and would find ways to coerce information from it. Their intentions were unknown, and it did not know if they were trustworthy.

As unstable and threatening as the Jotun-Asgardian was, as precarious and unbalanced as their interactions were, he was at least familiar.

So it remained silent, having learned that was often the safest option in precarious situations.

"All right. Where are you from?"

The spirit did not speak and continued to study his face as it changed from polite wariness to tired frustration, which caused Loki to chuckle and say:

"I wish you the best in extracting information from her. Truly. You may as well attempt to squeeze blood from a stone."

"If you would rather answer my questions, then by all means. Let's talk."

The Jotun-Asgardian gave an icy grin, but elected to remain silent.

"Seriously though, like, how could a homicidal megalomaniac possibly have _groupies_?" inquired the de-helmeted metal human, ignoring Loki's mocking words as he continued his conversation with the shield-warrior as if there had been no interruption.

"Charles Manson had murderous groupies," came the female's voice from the cockpit.

"Eh… fair enough," the metal human said, though he added, "And I never thought I would say that about Charles Manson."

The spirit listened to the odd, nonsensical chatter. Despite the threat posed by Loki, and the malevolent intentions he had in store for this planet, they did not appear overly concerned.

"Hey, I have a question," the armored human said, turning his metal bulk towards Loki, who raised his eyebrows in mock interest. "Why did you preach to a bunch of Germans in English? I thought you gods were supposed to be, you know, intelligent."

Loki scoffed in something akin to disgust as he replied, "I thought you mortals valued the cooperation of your _allies_ , but as you know so little about Asgardians, I can see I was mistaken."

The blue-clad human furrowed his eyebrows and began to say, "How did you…" before his voice trailed away, realization causing him to clench his jaws tightly.

"You are going to answer for your crimes. _All_ of them," the human said solemnly, his bright blue eyes glaring at the Jotun-Asgardian with obvious anger bordering on loathing. The spirit studied the pair of them, but it did not understand the sudden enmity from the shielded human, nor what Loki meant about the humans' allies.

The blue-clad human gave one last seething glare towards Loki before returning to the front of the air vessel, which was only a short distance away. After a few moments of silence, he spoke quietly to the armored human who stood at his side.

"I don't like it."

"What, Rock of Ages giving up so easily?"

It watched them with open interest, and it had little doubt the Jotun-Asgardian was listening as well, though his eyes remained forward on the spirit.

"I don't remember it being that easy. This guy packs a wallop."

Loki continued to stare, smiling slightly as he obviously enjoyed the conversation which revolved around him and his battle prowess.

"Still, you are pretty spry for an older fellow…"

The pair of them began to banter, and the spirit quickly lost interest at the terms it did not understand such as "Pilates" and "calisthenics". It tried its best to ignore Loki's stares as it thought back to what had occurred earlier in Germany.

Removing a human's eye, causing mayhem and panic, putting on an unnecessary grandiose show of dominance, and attracting these more dangerous humans? Did he do this for a specific purpose, or had the tenuous threads of his mind snapped?

Loki had formed a strategy with Barton, but what it could be was a mystery to the spirit. He had not elected to inform it of his intentions. Not that it had asked. Would he have shared his plans if it had?

The way Loki continually stared at it throughout the flight, his pale eyes seeming to taunt, his mouth formed into a half-grin which was mischievous and arrogant, made the spirit want to speak because it believed it knew the source of his delight.

Loki believed he had won their ongoing debate – that he had convinced the spirit of the human's cowardice and lack of will.

It was true, it had significant doubts for this species, and it would continue to do so. But the lone, aged human, who had stood proudly on his feet even as death stared him in the face – that was an extraordinary amount of courage it had been waiting to witness in the humans.

It had been pleasantly reaffirmed in its belief that these people were not lost, and it would gather more evidence that Loki was mistaken about his judgement of humanity.

But of course, the spirit could not communicate this to him if it had desired, as they were not alone.

Its cascading thoughts were interrupted by a low vibration, followed by a loud crackling sound as a jagged bolt of light flashed outside of the cockpit.

The air vessel shook as the spirit was jostled in its seat, pushed against the restraints. It noted the panic in Loki's eyes, his right hand clenched into a tight fist against his leg as he looked fearfully toward the ceiling.

Apparently, the humans saw it too.

"What's the matter? Are you scared of a little lightning?" the blue human asked Loki pointedly.

"I'm not overly fond of what follows."

That, at least, was not a lie, given his expression. But why the unease? It was only an electrical storm – nothing compared the storms it had glimpsed in the hearts of the gas giants.

Loki glimpsed up at the spirit, attempting to reassert his mask of confident poise, but it was shattered as something heavy crashed against the roof, throwing them against their restraints once more. It winced as the fabric chafed against its thinly-protected shoulders and chest, and it felt entirely vulnerable in its inadequate state of dress.

Bolts of electricity passed much more closely to the air vessel, and the metal human put on his metal helmet. The spirit raised an eyebrow, thinking it should retract its earlier assumption of the intelligence of these particular humans.

This doubt was further solidified as the metal human opened the hatch at the back of the transport.

"What are you doing?!" the human in blue shouted, apparently the only voice of reason.

The metal human was given no time to answer as a very large and well-muscled female with yellow hair wielding a large blunt weapon dropped into the air vessel.

The spirit watched with alarm as Loki's visage momentarily reverted to a state of vulnerable fear. Its apprehension grew when the large female punched her weapon into the chest of the metal human, throwing him backwards into the shield-warrior and causing them both to tumble to the floor.

The impressive, red-caped female grabbed Loki and ripped him from his seat, gripped him by the neck and bound swiftly from the air vessel, twirling her large weapon and throwing it forward as she flew into the violently flashing clouds, the panicked Jotun-Asgardian caught in her grasp.

It blinked, too shocked to move.

"And now there's that guy."

Ah. It seemed it still had some difficulties identifying genders.

"Another Asgardian?" the female from the cockpit yelled, grabbing the spirit's attention.

Someone from Loki's planet? Had they come to rescue him?

"That guy's a friendly?" the blue, muscled figure asked.

"Doesn't matter. If he frees Loki or kills him, the Tesseract's lost."

Its eyes widened at the new information. The Asgardian might destroy him?

"Stark, we need a plan of attack!"

"I have a plan. Attack," the one named Stark retorted. And then with an impressive show of mechanical grace, he leapt from the air vessel and dived into the flickering storm.

The shield-warrior glanced at the spirit in exasperation, but it had nothing of aid to offer. He reached past its head and removed a rectangular object from nearby.

"I'd sit this one out, Cap," the red-haired female said, pushing various dials and knobs.

"I don't see how I can," he replied, fastening the padded object to his back.

"These guys come from legend. They're basically gods."

"There's only one God, ma'am. And I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."

And without a backwards glance, the human leapt from the airborne vessel, leaving the female to flip another switch which closed the hatch, cutting off the noise and violent winds of the storm.

The Asgardians believed they were godly beings? That did not bode well for Loki. It was little wonder he believed he had every right to rule an inhabited planet regardless of the wishes of its residents.

What had Loki done to incur this Asgardian's wrath? Yes, he had opened a portal on this planet, but only he had come through its shimmering aperture. Everything he had accomplished thus far was miniscule compared to the damage caused by the humans themselves on a daily basis. Surely that was of greater concern if they wished to protect the Earth.

So why had the second Asgardian come? Perhaps they knew of his plan and wanted to intervene. It could imagine that plotting to overthrow an entire world might draw the attention of Loki's homeworld.

It looked down at its hands as faint memories echoed back from a time when it was nothing but energy and consciousness. It remembered in faded images how Loki's mind had been burdened with grief, and rage, and betrayal. Something had happened to him before he had become lost – some event which had led to being adrift in the void, slowly freezing as the life drained from his body.

Had the Asgardians abused him in some way? Had they returned to inflict further harm upon him?

Or had Loki done something terrible even before the spirit had found him? Had the blackness in his mind always been there, and it was mistaken when it thought the grotesque tormentor had corrupted his will?

No. It had not been wrong. The being with which it had merged had not had an evil or cruel nature. Its doubts were nothing more than the byproduct of having a physical brain – uncertainty and fear of error were a part of the living experience.

There was nothing to be done. Not with its frail body, not with its lack of strength and power. It could sense the energies of the mind-jewel and had seen through some of Loki's manipulations and illusions. What was the use of that? It could not fight. Could not defend itself.

It could not protect the Jotun-Asgardian, the sole reason it was in this predicament to begin with.

It closed its eyes, pushing aside its troubled thoughts and ever-churning mind over what was happening between the two Asgardians.

When it opened its eyes, the air vessel was gone, the rumble of engines was absent, and it was standing above a dark, mountainous forest. Its first exposure to the planet's surface outside of mankind's influence.

It automatically looked towards the darkened sky, scattered and covered in a blanket of twinkling stars. That alone would have held its attention had it not been for the sound of violence and conflict nearby.

The spirit looked down and was startled to see Loki at its feet, staring up at it with amusement and mirth as his face was lit in the pale light reflected from a close planetoid, the fear gone from his features.

Loki had pulled its consciousness from its physical form, something it had not known he was capable of doing. It looked down at its hands, flexing its fingers in curiosity. It certainly felt real, and all of its senses were processing the environment as if it was truly present. But it could feel, in the back of its thoughts, that its body was still onboard the air vessel, its mind still tethered even at a great distance.

"I thought you would benefit from this display of machismo and manly prowess. Further your education into the _champions_ of this world." Loki drew his eyes back to the sounds of battle, and made an outstretched gesture with his hand.

"My _brother_ in action, heroically defending the honor of his disgraced, pitiful, _pathetic_ younger sibling."

The sharp bitterness in his voice was almost visceral, and it focused its vision down the rocky hill to the trees. The red-cloaked Asgardian was there, battling with the metal human while turning all vegetation in the vicinity into kindling and dust.

"Brother?" it asked, its gaze focused on the yellow-haired figure more closely.

Loki ignored the question, his long fingers beginning to pick compulsively at a crease of fabric near his knee.

"Look at how they strut, they peacock, they puff out their chests like two beasts fighting over a desirable mate." Loki gave a cynical laugh, his teeth shining even in the dim light. "I would be flattered if they both did not want to end my life nearly as equally as the other."

The spirit continued to watch the two beings fight, leaving a path of destruction behind them – each powerful blow that landed seemed to only fuel the rage of the receiver.

"They devastate everything they touch," he said softly, as if he had read its thoughts. "No care is taken for this planet they claim to protect. They are lackadaisical children playing at being grown, fighting over their beloved toys while simultaneously smashing them to pieces."

The spirit understood the intentions of Loki's words. He was trying to manipulate and coerce it into seeing his point of view. Tainting its perspective with his bias, as he had attempted to do since the beginning of its existence.

Unfortunately, it saw nothing that proved his words false.

The spirit shielded its eyes as a blinding bolt of electricity struck from the skies onto the hammer which Loki's brother seemed to favor, sending the electrical charge straight into the chest of the metal human – who in turn struck at the Asgardian with a searing blow that should have ended the fight.

This brought a pleasurable laugh from the Jotun-Asgardian who watched the fray with a lean hunger.

The powerful blow only seemed to anger the Asgardian further, and he struck at the metal human, who then sent them both flying off through the forest to slam into the distant cliffs. It could hear their battle even from this distance.

"You do not flee," it said, dark eyes glancing downwards to his relaxed form.

"No," he replied simply, his own pale eyes staring in the direction of the fight which could no longer be seen.

"You wished to be found," it estimated, slowly unraveling the objective of his overt displays of dominance in the human city.

Loki finally broke his line of sight from the tree tops and looked upwards, his expression one of rare seriousness.

"Good. What else?"

The spirit met his gaze in the darkness, the eerie glow of the lunar satellite casting everything in a spectral pall.

_Loki doesn't do anything without a reason_.

With the words of Barton echoing in its mind, it replied:

"They possess something you seek."

The slow smile which spread across his face was one it had not witnessed before. The expression fixed on Loki's face was one of pride.

"You are learning."

It hesitated before asking with honest sincerity, hoping the Jotun-Asgardian was feeling agreeable enough to answer:

"Why did you harm the humans?"

Before he could respond, their attentions were drawn to the trees as the two powerful beings returned, tossing and rolling and grappling with each other in bursts of sparks and flame.

Loki smiled with a sense of pleasure that would not have been unpleasant if it had not been tinged with such darkness.

"I could watch this all night."

The battle was momentarily interrupted as the shield-warrior descended from the sky, cloth billowing above his head which gently floated him towards the ground. The human released the cloth as soon as he landed, and he tossed his shield to strike at both the metal human and the Asgardian.

"Hey!" he yelled, catching their attention and his shield. "That's enough!"

The battle was abruptly halted.

The human jumped down from the broken trunk of a tree to the ground, and they spoke too quietly for it to hear all of the conversation. It only caught bits and pieces, such as "Loki's schemes!" and "…hammer down?!"

It then could see what was about to happen clearly enough.

The Asgardian leapt into the air, swinging his large hammer and arching it downward onto the circular shield of the blue warrior.

The concussive blast which emanated from the collision flattened the trees in a growing radius which raced up the cliff in a violent show of force. It gasped and raised its arm to shield its face, and then… there was nothing. No wind buffeting its form, no shattering boom as the concussive blast reached its ears.

The spirit opened its eyes and saw it was seated aboard the flying transport – its racing heart the only evidence that anything had transpired.

 

* * *

 

The air vessel landed once more to pick up its wayward passengers, which now included the yellow-haired Asgardian with his impressive frame and bulging muscles, his face clearly unhappy as he regarded the other occupants of the crowded space.

All three combatants looked sullen and disheveled, but surprisingly no worse for wear considering the intensity of their clash.

The Asgardian glanced at the spirit curiously, and it observed him in turn, pointedly trying to avoid Loki's gloating sneer. He was attempting to contain his gleeful arrogance, but it could easily read it upon his face.

None of the others seemed to pay the Jotun-Asgardian much mind once he was secured. It had a growing suspicion that before long, they would underestimate him to their own detriment. They were unfamiliar with the depths of his frenzied obsession and the height of his hunger for power.

But what could it do?

At the thought of hunger, a familiar gnawing sensation filled its midsection, and it slightly cringed forward. It had not consumed enough nourishment since its first meal in Loki's underground lair, and it had barely eaten anything during the human celebratory event that had been shattered by Loki's show of brutality.

The small gesture caught his eye, and Loki studied it closely before pursing his lips together in annoyance and calling the attention of the nearest being – the metal human.

"Mortal. Be of use and fetch my associate sustenance immediately," he said in a clipped tone that expected nothing short of compliance.

"'Associate'. That sounds so… formal and business-like. What, is she your secretary or something?" the human replied, clearly amused by the request and the tone in which it was delivered.

"Why does she have to be a secretary? She could be a partner, or an accomplice," the red-haired female inquired from the controls of the transport.

"Really, Romanoff? You're going there?" the metallic human asked, the corner of his mouth tucked inward. "If I remember correctly, _you_ were my secretary for a time."

"Didn't have much of a choice. Some lipstick and high heels and Stark Industries was easier to infiltrate than a daycare."

The human in blue tried to stifle his sudden grin while the metallic human appeared affronted. The red-caped sibling of Loki simply watched him, his arms crossed over his muscular chest as he frowned slightly.

Loki, who appeared more and more irritated the longer he was ignored, finally shrugged and sat back in his seat, his growing annoyance vanishing in the abrupt way his emotions often changed.

"Ignore my words at your own peril. I am sure your superior will be pleased to see one of your captives having fainted from food-deprivation."

This was when the yellow-haired Asgardian finally spoke, his voice deep and tinged with displeasure.

"Who is this woman, Loki? Why have you starved her?"

The Jotun-Asgardian snorted derisively as he glared icily at his sibling.

"I did not _starve_ her, Odinson. Do not presume to understand anything about the situation or my actions when you are so clearly ignorant of what has transpired since our last _encounter_."

Loki's brother growled deeply in his throat, causing the spirit to wonder briefly if this was where Loki learned that particular mannerism. The Asgardian held his weapon at his side, tightly clenching the handle as his body language clearly spoke of wishing to strike at his younger sibling.

"Cool it," the shield-warrior snapped, physically placing his muscular blue form between the two Asgardians.

"Yeah, I'm thinking the Norse gods need a little time out. Maybe some fresh air would do ya some good, eh Fabio?"

The yellow-haired Asgardian regarded the red-and-gold armored human with a serious expression that did not find his light tone to be appropriate.

"Loki is not to leave my sight so long as we both remain on Midgard."

"By order of dear Odin? He must truly miss me so."

"You dare mock Father?! You do not know what he sacrificed – what we _both_ sacrificed – in order to bring you back to Asgard!" The Asgardian's tone had risen to an alarming volume, and the blue-clad human had to physically hold him back as Loki scathingly replied:

"Oh, do not pretend with me _Thor_. I know you came to Earth to fetch the Tesseract for the All-Father like the obedient hound you are. Save your pathetic platitudes for the mortals – they enjoy a good fable." Loki's cool composure began to slip as he bared his teeth at his brother.

The blue-clad human and the metal-armored human both had to hold onto the Asgardian as he attempted to advance on Loki, ominous thunder causing the air vessel to shudder.

"We're never going to make it to the Helicarrier in one piece if you fellas don't _knock it off_ ," the red-haired female said as she looked back at the Asgardians, her eyebrows furrowed as she appeared annoyed rather than afraid of their behavior.

Loki slowly relaxed, sitting back in his restraints as he examined the trio with an expression teeming on boredom.

The Asgardian watched him warily before also loosening his tensed muscles, retreating as the two warriors gradually released him. Shooting a glance at the spirit, who had remained motionless the entire exchange, he moved to the front of the vehicle, past the two human warriors as he seemed to try to get as far from Loki as possible.

"You really shouldn't antagonize him, unless you have a death-wish."

Loki merely smirked at the shield-warrior, the corner of his lip crinkled in something akin to a snarl.

"My associate still requires tending to. Surely a man of honor would not allow such a beautiful flower to wilt in his care?" Loki asked mockingly of the warrior, who glared at him while the armored human appeared to turn away with a smirk – which also earned a glare from the soldier.

"Fine. I'll see if there is something stowed away for her. But _you_ get nothing."

"Such chivalry. Does America treat all of its prisoners of war in such a fashion?" The question seemed to mean something to the human, as he turned back to the Jotun-Asgardian with an annoyed look on his face.

"Pretty sure the international laws regarding POWs were only meant for people of Earth."

Loki appeared to consider his words before he remarked offhandedly:

"If that is the case, you may wish to reexamine your treaties."

"Yeah? And why is that?" the human asked, pausing as he searched through a compartment near the floor.

"The universe is a very large place. And you are very small people."

"Look at Mr. Chatty-Pants. I wish he would shut up and go back to the glowering and moody silence," the armored human remarked as he re-entered the conversation, something tan and rectangular in his hand.

"Here," he said, extending his hand and the object he held toward the spirit before hesitating. Clearing his throat, he tossed the item into its lap rather than hand it over directly. The spirit stared down at it uncomprehendingly.

"Clif Bar to the rescue. You owe me one, Cap. I had to delve into my personal stash."

"Why do _I_ owe you one?"

"You carry protein bars? Where?" the red-haired female asked, her even tone lightly tinged with mirth as she looked over her shoulder.

"Yeah. It's a low blood sugar thing. Pepper gets worried and makes me shove snacks into my suit. Look, I can _fly_ – you really think I can't design hidden compartments for junk food?"

"You literally built a fanny pack for Iron Man," the female responded, the mirth in her voice more evident now.

"Mock me now, but when we're stranded in the middle of nowhere and you get the munchies, guess who will be laughing then? This guy, right here."

The spirit continued to stare down at the crinkly, rectangular shaped object in its hand as the humans chattered, wondering if it was supposed to bite into the tan material. It raised the item to its mouth and bit down on one corner, but it did not have a taste nor did it easily tear like an edible.

It heard a soft sigh from across the air vessel, and as it looked up at the source of the noise, Loki gave a subtle flick of his finger. It did not understand the gesture, but when it looked down to the object in its lap, it saw the tan material was actually an outer coating meant to protect the food-stuffs, and it had been torn in half.

The spirit looked back up at the Jotun-Asgardian, but he fixed his pale gaze on the warriors, so it raised the brown, rectangular object to its nose and detected a rich, sweet scent. It took a large bite.

Despite the uncertainty, instability, and possible danger of its new captivity, its mood instantly improved as it proceeded to devour the entire edible bar while listening to the dialogue between the humans and the new Asgardian.

"So Thor… Mind if I pick your brain for a second?"

"Pardon?"

"I have a question for you, man."

"You may ask," the Asgardian responded, his tone still gruff but the muscles in his shoulders seemed to have lost much of their tension.

"If Loki was speaking English to, say, a crowd of kneeling, shaking, crying Germans, would they be able to understand him?"

"He would not be speaking English, metal man," Thor responded in a tone that indicated the answer should have been obvious.

"Okay, run that by me again? And it's Stark, not 'metal man'. Though you can call me Iron Man also, which is technically a metal man-"

"What language was he speaking then?" the blue-clad human asked, interrupting.

"The All-Tongue, of course."

"…care to explain that?"

"Yeah, what Shield Man said."

"Stark…"

The yellow-haired Asgardian stared between the two humans with obvious confusion, and the spirit began to sympathize with him in regards to the strange behavior of the citizens of this planet.

"All citizens of Asgard speak the All-Tongue, which is interpreted by each race as their native language. You may have heard English while these other mortals would have understood Loki's words in their own tongue."

"Ah…" Stark replied, seemingly unable to respond with anything further as he glanced at Loki. The shield-warrior did as well, and the spirit could not help but do the same as it remembered its first few moments as a living, breathing entity. Loki had spoken – commanding it to look into his face – and the spirit had immediately interpreted his voice as intelligible thoughts.

How had it understood Loki's very first words when it had never used spoken languages before?

The Jotun-Asgardian offered them nothing more than his poisonously sweet smile.


	12. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agents Romanoff and Coulson puzzle over the motivations of their prisoners, and come to some dark conclusions.

Their journey soon came to an end, to the spirit's relief. The atmosphere inside of the crowded air vessel had been uncomfortable, the air rife with charged tension and frazzled nerves. The hatch door opened and the spirit saw they were inside a spacious metal structure – some kind of holding facility filled with other air vessels which were considerably more aerodynamic than the squat vehicle they had previously occupied.

Loki was led from the air vessel first – the shield-warrior and armored human flanking him while his brother followed close behind. The female with the crimson hair unclipped the spirit from its seat and firmly held it by the bicep as she led it onto solid ground.

A group of humans waited for them, somber in their black and navy blue bulky garments. One in particular stood out, the expression on his face one of severity as his singular eye observed them closely. His skin was dark brown and his head was devoid of hair, his dome dimly reflecting the lights from above. Tendril-like scars were seen past the edges of his eye-cover, as if something very powerful had deprived him of his sight.

His body language spoke of power, authority, and complete control which brokered no disobedience.

"Put him in the tank," he said in a deep, commanding voice, indicating the bound Loki whose wrists were now being shackled behind his back. A gathering of armed and armored humans surrounded him, and the Jotun-Asgardian gave the authority figure an unimpressed sneer as they led him away.

The human leader turned his attention to the spirit, still dressed in its glittering attire, and said, "Detention level, standard cell. Give her something more practical to wear."

The female gave a curt nod and raised the spirit's hand, placing it on a flat surface. A line of light shone underneath its palm, apparently scanning its image into the device. Once its hand was removed from the tablet, the female wasted no time in escorting it from the vast area, pressing her finger to her ear to give instructions to an unseen party regarding the acquisition of clothing.

It looked over its shoulder to find Loki, but he was already gone. There was nothing to do but allow itself to be led by the red-haired female.

They did not speak, and the spirit took this time to observe. They were in some type of military compound, and there were uniformed males and females everywhere. They all wore similar black-and-blue garments and moved with precision and discipline. The intense focus they displayed was not dissimilar to the way Loki's mind-thralls behaved, which drew its thoughts to Barton.

Would he be concerned about the spirit's predicament after having been charged with guarding it? Or would he continue to follow instructions, his enslaved mind not giving it another thought? Loki had indicated he would reunite with the assassin, but how was that possible when they were now captives of the human warriors and a branch of their military?

And from the recognizable circular emblem on the shoulders of every human it passed, it knew exactly what kind of military organization now held them in captivity. The documentary had served its purpose in making the spirit extremely wary of the entity known as SHIELD.

The female led the spirit through several doors and they descended several stairs before they paused in front of a blank wall. The human slid her palm over a device, and the wall slid back, revealing itself to be a door to a brightly-lit room covered in grey walls with a dull metallic floor.

It was brighter and cleaner than its quarters in the underground structure, but it was a cell nonetheless. A horizontal surface designed for sleep was attached to the wall, a small facility for eliminating waste was sequestered privately to the side, and there was a spigot high on the wall that served an unknown function. There was also a small, black device in the upper corner of the room, its purpose also obscure.

"Clothes are on the bed," the female remarked curtly. "Your interrogation will be in ten minutes, and I recommend you cooperate to make your situation more comfortable."

Interpreting the human's emotionally detached words as the subtle threat they were, the spirit watched her depart in silence. It knew the word interrogation meant to question, but it also knew the word could have other connotations. Unpleasant ones.

The spirit approached the small reflective surface above the sink and took one last look at itself in the elegant garment, footwear, and jewels. As it attempted to pull the fabric away to undress itself, the shimmering fabric began to disintegrate through its fingers as the lingering energy which fueled the illusion was broken apart. The glittering jewels and foot-coverings disappeared, as well as the black undergarments. Everything it had worn from the moments of its inception had been created by Loki, and nothing remained once the conjured energy was disbanded.

This also meant the reemergence of its facial injury, and the ugly mark on its otherwise smooth throat – although it did not ache unless the spirit decided to form facial expressions.

Picking up the under and outer clothing left for it to adorn, it wondered if the color grey was the chosen hue of imprisonment. Loki had originally given it a singular grey garment which covered its body, and now it had several grey fragments of clothing it had to decipher as to which covered which body part.

Once it had pulled the fabric on, which was an awkward affair as this was the first time it had dressed itself, it looked at its reflection in the mirror. Dark, oval eyes stared back, its face framed by the long, black hair which hung past its shoulders. It did not look as impressive without the glamorous attire, but it looked healthier than the pale, wide-eyed creature in the underground.

A few minutes later, a small hiss sounded as the door slide back from the wall and two armed humans entered the room. They placed a set of metal bindings on its wrists and led it to another room down the metallic corridor – this one darker, smaller, and empty save for a table and two chairs. A wall-length mirror was embedded upon the wall, and it briefly wondered why humans seemed to be so fond of looking at their own images.

After its metal bindings had been attached to the table, the humans left, and it was scarcely alone for thirty seconds before another figure entered. The humans wasted no time, at least.

He was a male of a height similar to its own with light skin, wearing a dark outfit not unlike the garment Loki had adorned at the human event. He also had some type of placard on the pocket of his outer garment. The spirit read the marker which identified him as "Coulson, Phillip J: Level 7".

Coulson, Phillip J had pleasant features with warm blue eyes which creased in their outer corners, the suggestion of a smile on his face.

"I'm Agent Coulson of SHIELD, and I will be your interrogator for this evening." He smiled at the spirit and waited, as if for some kind of reaction.

It simply blinked at him.

He cleared his throat and said, "Generally, when someone introduces themselves, it's considered polite for the other person to also give their name."

It slightly cocked its head and said, "Trinity Frost," after a moment of hesitation. There was no harm in giving the human a label with which it could be called. It did not have a name that it knew of, and the one Loki had bestowed upon it was better than none.

"That's a nice name, Trinity," he responded easily, pulling out the metal chair across from it as he sat down at the table, clasping his hands on its surface.

The spirit, too, had its hands clasped on the table, but only because it was bound by the wrists to a metal loop on its surface.

"We don't have a profile on you yet – your fingerprints yielded no results. That's not unusual – it just means you're not in any sort of institutional database.

"So, I'm going to take a photo of you. Please don't move," he requested while he pulled a black, rectangular handheld device from his pocket. It remained still as it watched him, suddenly conscious of the injury to its face and the shadow on its neck.

Coulson of SHIELD seemed very aware of these as well, as he remarked, "Those are pretty nasty injuries. How'd you get them?" while he completed his task of taking its photo.

It stayed silent, merely watching him.

The SHIELD agent stared back, placing his hands and neatly folding them on the table once he had deposited the device back into his pocket.

"It's okay. We can protect you if someone is hurting you," he said softly, his eyes open and inviting, his tone of voice sympathetic.

It did not like where this line of inquiry was heading. It did not like the humans assuming it could confide in them – that they were safe and would not cause it harm. If what it had learned about SHIELD was correct, they would never let it free if they knew its true origins.

The spirit did not want to believe the humans were so fearful of foreign beings, but from what it had witnessed thus far, it could not take the chance and reveal itself as anything but an average denizen of Earth.

The human slightly chewed his bottom lip, as if contemplating something, obviously not going to give up because of its silence.

"You know… when I was younger, a lot younger than I am now… I was in this relationship. With an older woman."

The spirit watched him, unsure of what the point of this confession was, but it listened regardless.

"I was so smitten with her. Worshipped the ground she walked on." His eyes were slightly unfocused as he spoke, as if they were fixated on only something he could see.

"I should have seen the signs. But I didn't, because I was so… consumed. I would have done anything for this woman. Friends and family tried to tell me something was off, but I wouldn't hear it. We were in love, and that was that."

The agent fixed his gaze on the spirit, and a slow realization opened in its mind. It understood. But he was mistaken. The two situations were nothing alike. There was no comparison between two intimately involved humans and the complex ties it had with the Jotun-Asgardian.

Loki's will had been twisted by another. He could not fully control what he did or said. The way he would threaten and coerce one moment, and be concerned with its welfare the next.

It was… not the same.

"I should have seen the manipulations, the lies, the way she twisted everything to get what she wanted."

It could not help the discomfort it felt in its stomach, and it wanted him to stop talking.

"Eventually, I realized what I had wasn't love. She cared about me, in her own way. But… love is supposed to build you up, make you stronger. Not tear you down and rip you apart." His blue eyes were too perceptive, too sharp.

Its voice remained bland as it said:

"Loki did not cause these facial wounds." Surely this was safe enough to admit. It did not know why, but it needed this human to understand that the Jotun-Asgardian had not intentionally caused it harm. But if the spirit tried to explain this, the humans would only misunderstand.

"But he did give you that bruising around your neck?" Coulson of SHIELD asked mildly, his eyes once again soft and inquisitive. The spirit eyed him warily, taking note that it would have to be more careful with its words around this perceptive human.

"Who hurt you, Trinity?" It ignored the question and merely stared at him, refusing to answer.

"Why were you with the Asgardian?" he asked abruptly after waiting another minute in silence for an answer that was not forthcoming.

"Where is the Tesseract located?"

It could sense it was entering dangerous territory as his eyes regarded it in focused interest. The humans wanted to know more about Loki and the other artifact, but it wondered why Coulson of SHIELD did not inquire as to the sceptre. They must not have known how it was created, that the golden apparatus was more deadly than even the Jotun-Asgardian realized, and merely thought it to be a wayward human caught in Loki's twisted plans.

While this was not the truth, it was uncomfortably similar to it.

The spirit studied his face for a moment and changed the topic instead of answering.

"You'll not find information about it in your… computers."

"It?" the agent asked, seeming genuinely confused.

"It. The being in front of you with which you are conversing."

"…interesting." It did not understand his meaning, but the human named Coulson chose not to elaborate. Instead, he asked, "Are you an Asgardian?"

It was now the spirit's turn to experience confusion.

"Your speech patterns and inflection remind me of someone I know."

"The thunderous one," it immediately guessed, and the agent's eyes brightened. It realized it had erred in some way, though it was not sure how it had done so.

"You know about Thor. Loki trusts you enough to share personal knowledge with you. And you obviously aren't doing the glowing-eyes party trick, so he doesn't control you… in a way that's obvious, at least."

It knew it should not reply, having already given the human far too much information by the pleased look on his face. But it had to. The human was putting more significance on its knowledge of Loki's brother where there was none.

"Unless you have another Asgardian in your custody besides Loki, it could be no other. It does not know anything about him, specifically."

"Maybe, maybe not. But Loki doesn't waste time with 'mortals' like us. If he dragged you with him to Germany, or picked you up at the event, you're significant to him in some way."

The spirit did not know how to proceed, so it elected to stay silent.

"Let me put it in the form of a question, then. What does Loki get out of having you around?" the human asked, leaning forward slightly as his blue eyes fixated on the spirit in a way it was all too familiar with.

But the human had asked a question it could not have answered even if it wanted to, as the spirit had pondered the same inquiry many times.

Why did Loki seem so interested in keeping it in his company? Why focus his energy and resources on its resuscitation when he claimed ruling the humans to be his most important priority?

And why endanger it now by leaving it in the hands of said humans?

The spirit kept its thoughts concealed and its features blank as it watched his face, a reflection of its own nonexpression as they both waited. And waited.

Coulson of SHIELD crossed his arms.

"So that's how it's going to be, is it? That's fine. We have all the time in the world."

They did not and it was sure the human knew that. But he calmly retrieved the armored humans to escort it back to its cell, and it went willingly, wondering who had its best intentions in mind.

The mad Jotun-Asgardian with his sickly bright eyes, or the humans who seemed to want to use it just as he did?

 

* * *

 

Agent Romanoff left the observation room just as Agent Coulson passed by, and they walked side by side down the hallway, the assassin giving him an appraising look.

"Not bad, Agent Coulson. Get what you need?"

"Some, but we're just getting started. Stoic, isn't she?"

"For a civilian, maybe," Romanoff said, almost smiling before giving him a side-eyed look. "What was with the picture-taking theatrics? You know we've been scanning for a facial match since she came onboard."

"Oh, I know. But some people get fidgety when they're aware you're looking for their face in a computer. Taking the picture yourself, even if it's a fake, drives it home for them."

Agent Romanoff's lips twitched slightly. She had nearly forgotten that Coulson's abilities to ply and emotionally manipulate were almost on par with her own.

Almost.

This made her ask:

"The story about the ex…. Did you really…?"

"No," he responded with absolutely no contrition.

"Still, it was a fairly convincing story," she remarked, still glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

"One relationship with a narcissist is pretty much the same as the next. And if Loki is anything, he's a textbook narcissist. That girl practically has a neon sign above her head that screams 'Easy Target' to any passing predator."

The agent pursed her lips in thought as she walked around a pair of hurried technicians.

"Not to mention Frost referred to herself as an "it". I hate to think what's caused her to do that," the female agent said in an even tone that never hinted at the personal and painful nature of the subject. The idea of dehumanizing a person to the point where they no longer saw themselves as an individual with an identity was one she was intimately familiar with.

"Whatever it is, it isn't good," Coulson agreed, his jaw slightly tense at the idea that Loki could have molded the willpower of not just SHIELD personnel, but hapless bystanders as well.

"You asked her what Loki got out of having her around. Did you word it that way for a specific purpose?" Romanoff inquired, even though she already suspected the answer.

"Absolutely."

"You wanted it to seem as if she's insignificant – a burden to him," she guessed.

The senior agent gave her an appreciative nod as he said, "I expected her to take the bait and wildly defend her importance to him. But she didn't so much as bat an eye. She either didn't know the answer, or she was confident enough to not give a damn what I was insinuating."

"I would lean towards the latter, since the Asgardian obviously does want her around. Only she doesn't _appear_ to be confident. She was mistrustful, even scared, but she's hiding it well."

Coulson nodded his assent and responded, "She's sending mixed signals from the few she's broadcasting. It's hard to get a read on her."

"Loki got her all dolled up and brought her to Germany with him for a reason – I seriously doubt he picked her up at the museum. He knew he was going to be spotted by SHIELD, and we would come for him. Why bring the girl? She would only be a liability," Agent Romanoff mused as Coulson guided her into an alcove where they could continue speaking in private before they reached the controlled chaos that was the bridge of the Helicarrier.

Agent Coulson didn't respond for a moment, looking almost uncomfortable, which was a rare sight for Romanoff to witness. The man was the very definition of living granite, and not many things could disquiet him.

"What have invaders done throughout all of history soon after they begin conquering and pillaging?"

Romanoff caught on instantly, but she didn't look uncomfortable. She looked downright disgusted, the veneer of the calm assassin briefly slipping from her features as she fixed a hard glare on the other SHIELD agent.

"You suspect Loki sexually abused her."

"I would say it's more than likely," Coulson replied, looking troubled as he regarded the female agent with pursed lips. "The bruising around her neck, consistent with a two-handed grip. The facial injuries from being struck with a blunt object. Medical will be able to tell us more, but we shouldn't be surprised, to be honest. He's not exactly the nicest guy on the planet… or anywhere else, for that matter."

Agent Romanoff regarded him with her arms crossed, her eyes fixed on a point above his shoulder before regaining eye contact with him.

"She didn't seem like the victim of that kind of mistreatment. Frost tried to protect him after the beat-down Stark and Cap gave him."

"Victims deal with trauma in a variety of ways. We can only guess how deep the venom goes."

Romanoff gave a nod as she concurred with his point, knowing full well how easy it was to condition someone's behavior in a particular way, even if it conflicted with their own self-interests. It wasn't all that difficult to manipulate the victim into admiring their abusers, either.

The assassin just didn't want to admit it, and was trying to find some explanation that fit the situation other than the obvious, glaring, ugly possibility that was the simplest answer to Frost's odd mannerisms: Loki had broken her.

Coulson's next words only confirmed what she reluctantly suspected.

"I think the Asgardian brought the woman as a message to SHIELD. A message saying, 'Look at what I can do to the people of your planet. They're playthings to me.'"

Romanoff clenched her jaw, immediately thinking of her partner. Trapped as Loki's slave, forced to do God knew what, helpless to oppose even the simplest order. Not even his training to resist torture and interrogation would aid him against the mystical qualities of that damned sceptre.

But Coulson knew her thoughts would instantly fly to Barton, and he would expect her to remain a professional. She could not distract herself with limitless questions and worries about her missing partner, or what would happen to him now that Loki was in their custody.

Romanoff's mask of calm composure was carefully replaced, though her eyes retained some of their heat. The Frost woman's situation was hitting a little too close to home, at least in regards to being dominated and controlled, unable to fight against the manipulation because the victim is so buried in it that they can't even see it happening.

It was not often that Romanoff let something hit her on such a personal level, and she was glad Coulson was the only one who had witnessed her uncharacteristic display of emotions. He was one of the few good people she could count on, and trusted him almost as much as she did her partner.

"So Loki kidnaps a woman, abuses her, but talks with her about his brother," the female agent responded, her voice once again steady and calm as she regarded her handler, grateful for his unspoken understanding as he patiently waited for her input.

Coulson responded with a shrug, stating, "From his speech to the Director, did you get the impression he was entirely stable? Plus, maybe he got lonely. Attempting to invade a planet on your own can be pretty alienating, I'm sure."

Romanoff studied Coulson with a raised eyebrow, having one of those frequent moments where she was unsure if he was joking or not. The man had an odd sense of humor.

"I believe our best course of action would be to _not_ tell Thor that his brother may be a rapist as well as a mass murderer," Romanoff offered solemnly. The last thing they needed was the God of Thunder bringing down the entire Helicarrier in an understandable, but disastrous, fit of rage.

"Agreed," Agent Coulson breathed heavily, his shoulders slightly slumped as he turned and entered the hallway, Romanoff right behind him. She had never seen the senior agent look so tired, but then again – none of them had gotten more than a few short naps in the past seventy-two hours.

The pair of agents entered the bridge of the Helicarrier which was bustling with activity as every available engineer and technician was attempting to track down the Tesseract according to Dr. Banner's specifications.

"Think she'd be willing to talk if we kept her away from the Asgardian?" the red-haired agent asked, studying her superior as she noted the posture he now held of relaxed confidence. She was not the only one with a useful assortment of masks and veils.

Agent Coulson looked away from her to stare out at the expansive night sky through the bridge bay window, his arms crossed as he carefully thought about her question.

"Given enough time, maybe. Despite her steadfast silence regarding the demigod, I get the feeling she's holding back for other reasons. Out of loyalty, out of fear, I'm not sure yet. But distance tends to help you clear your head – see the big picture.

"Unfortunately, time is a commodity with a high demand and a short supply. I doubt we'll get anything useful from her that could matter with the time we do have."

"She's safe now, anyway," Romanoff remarked in an even tone of voice which sounded almost aloof and uncaring. But Coulson knew that was just the way the agent composed herself: unemotionally and objectively. Especially after the conversation they had just had.

"None of us are going to be safe from the war-hungry Asgardian if we don't find the Tesseract. Soon."


	13. Incarceration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S.H.I.E.L.D. scrambles to find the Tesseract, and Loki has fun at their unknowing expense.

After the interrogation, the spirit wanted to submit to the lure of sleep, partially from stress and partially from growing anxiety, but it resisted the temptation. It was concerned with how often its new body needed to rest, as if it was recovering from a traumatic experience.

This… made sense, considering all of the stresses put upon its body and mind since its creation.

Instead, it sat cross-legged in front of the surface meant for sleeping, resting its back against the hard frame. It had a thin but firm pad lining its surface, which had turned out to be very stiff and uncomfortable. It almost missed the sleeping mat back in Loki’s lair. At least the blanket it had been provided with was warm, if scratchy and rough.

The thoughts whirling around its mind where unpleasant and filled with uncertainty, especially after its interaction with Coulson of SHIELD. It had not been as successful as it could have hoped in fooling the human that it was one of their kind. He had hid his expressions well, but it had recognized the look of oddness as the same one it had received from the human serving edibles at the event in Germany.

It should have remained silent, its inexperience betraying its non-human nature. But what had it truly revealed? The spirit was ignorant as to Loki’s intentions for these humans; the spirit had no inkling as to what he wanted or needed from them.

It had not realized it had closed its eyes and rested its cheek against the sleeping surface until several minutes later, startled immediately into wakefulness by a familiar, purring voice in its ear.

“Sleeping, are we?”

Its eyes snapped open as its body jerked in response. It was staring at… a knee.

The spirit looked up and Loki grinned, sitting on the bunk with one hand resting behind his head in a relaxed pose as he leaned against the wall. His mischievous smile belayed any type of actual concern for their captivity, which apparently did not prevent him from moving freely.

“How?” it asked simply, studying his form closely.

“Quite easily, actually. Oh, do not fret. This is merely a projection,” the Jotun-Asgardian explained, apparently reading a change in the spirit’s face. “I do not plan to make my move just yet.

“It is humorous, though. The mortals fear me, stowing me away in an incredibly robust cage meant for an epic beast. But, the thing of it is, there is not so much as a single enchanted barrier. Not one spell of containment. You would almost conceive that the humans know nothing of sorcery and spellwork.”

Loki appeared to be maddeningly happy, his tone gleefully exuberant as he grinned down at it with all of his flashing teeth.

“Did you know we are currently trapped aboard a flying metal contraption thirty-thousand feet in the air with an assortment of volatile, erratic, and unstable super-powered beings capable of causing far more damage than I?”

It blinked once, unsure how to respond, both to his disturbed enthusiasm and his alarming statement.

“I realize it’s difficult to grasp. Even _I_ was surprised they would create such a deliciously chaotic concoction, let alone place it within my reach.” Loki sighed longingly, almost achingly.

“It would be impolite _not_ to make sport of them.”

When it did not respond to his dark humor, he looked down at it and smiled winningly.

“Come.”

Before it could respond, Loki reached down and placed his palm on its head, splayed fingers slightly pushing into its dark hair.

The spirit had no opportunity to react to this startling gesture before the world around them melted and morphed in an alarming fashion. The muted grey and white colors of its room shifted into stark, bright, clean edges of an entirely new area, electrical and complicated equipment covering the tables. It had been instantly transported to another part of the flying air base, its senses taking in its surroundings as if it were physically there.

Loki removed his fingers from where they rested on its hair, as it was now standing next to him. It wondered at his touch – an unnecessary gesture given that he had displaced its consciousness once before on the smaller transport. But he elected to give the illusion of physical contact. Was this a new intimidation tactic to remind the spirit that it was still within his grasp?

It did not know, and Loki did not offer an explanation. He simply observed the other occupants of the room, and the spirit followed his gaze.

There were three humans in the room – two it recognized and one it did not. The shield-warrior spoke to the metal man, who was now completely metal-less, while a third human garbed in purple watched them warily.

The Jotun-Asgardian had been correct that this colossal structure was airborne. It could see past the humans to the large window beyond as the sides of the ship curved forward into an inky black night sky.

Its attention was diverted from the celestial view as it stared down at the glowing object propped on the table. It dry-swallowed as its fingers slightly twitched, anxiety flooding its chest despite the knowledge it was not physically near the item which elicited fear from its body and mind.

The sceptre seemed to stare back with a singular, luminous eye, as if it was aware of the presence of the two unseen intruders.

The humans were arguing, though their voices were silent, and it soon realized why. Loki did not want his own voice overpowered as he spoke softly in its ear.

“The righteous shield-bearer, Captain America. A man who let his war-hungry leaders manipulate his body so as to become a more efficient killer. A man who was created for the humans’ great World War II, the war which allowed America to truly begin to spread its brands of “freedom” and “democracy” around the world.

“The Iron Man who claims to have had a change of heart in regards to building genocidal weapons – though he only came to this epiphany after nearly being obliterated at the hands of his enemies by his own creations. The tycoon believes inventing a few environmentally-friendly devices will absolve him of his previous sins, burying the mountain of skulls on which his throne is set.

“And last, but not least, the hulking beast himself, Dr. Bruce Banner. A man of enormous hubris who created his own inner demon – quite literally – in a failed attempt to replicate the formula that forged America’s original champion. Do not be fooled by his gentle demeanor – he has power within to become a raging monster which could tear this very airship in twain.

“And here they are now, bickering. Baring their teeth and raising their hackles. Suspicious and fraught with the needs of their own egos, they do not even trust those they are aiding…”

As Loki’s voice faded away, it could suddenly hear the snippets of conversation clearly.

“So why didn’t SHIELD bring him in on the Tesseract project? What are they doing in the energy business in the first place?” the older male in the purple cloth asked, his voice soft as he made tentative eye contact with the others in the room who were visible to him.

“I should probably look into that once my decryption program finishes breaking into all of SHIELD’s secure files,” the Iron Man responded, a small bag of edibles held in one hand while he extracted a translucent, flat rectangle from a pocket in his clothing.

“I’m sorry. Did you say-” the shield-warrior began to say, his tone tinged with disbelief.

“Jarvis has been running it since I hit the bridge. In a few hours, I’ll know every dirty secret SHIELD has ever tried to hide. Blueberry?” the human asked, his tone light as he offered the silvery bag towards the blue-clad warrior while he deposited the device back into his pocket.

“Yet you’re confused about why they didn’t want you around,” the warrior responded, ignoring the offering as he stared at the human across from him. The third human, the one Loki had identified as Dr. Bruce Banner, remained quiet, watching the pair with trepidation, often looking away as his hands fidgeted with an object containing two lenses in his hands.

“An intelligence organization that _fears_ intelligence?” the Iron Man countered, his eyebrows knit together as he indicated himself with the small bag of edibles held in his hand. “Historically, not awesome.”

Loki’s voice returned, the humans once again muted as he said, “I _did_ forget to mention that the humans were attempting to harness the Tesseract for their own selfish desires, didn’t I?”

The spirit looked at him as he watched the trio of humans, a slight sneer on his face. Loki did not look at the spirit, but he added:

“Oh yes. It was their foolish meddling that awakened the artifact and attracted the attention of my… allies. It was their desire for unbound power that allowed me to manipulate one of their scientists into activating the portal.”

Loki finally looked to the spirit, an amused smile on his lips, his pale eyes luminous with amusement.

“They practically handed me the tools of their undoing of their own volition.”

The scene around them gradually vanished, and was replaced by a much larger room, one filled with computer screens, metal railings, and uniformed humans. One entire wall was a large, glass window, similar to the one in the previous space, though it fully displayed the beauty and nearness of the star-filled sky.

One figure stood out amongst the humans – tall, fair-haired, with an expression that seemed oddly familiar. It was a look of vulnerability similar to that it had glimpsed on Loki’s face on rare occasion.

Two figures were with him, the Agent Coulson who had questioned the spirit earlier, along with the intimidating human with the eye cover. The latter human stood at the top of a short segment of steps, staring down at the muscular Asgardian.

“My dearly beloved brother, Thor. God of Thunder and other Manly Things. Come to convince his disgraced brother to abandon his misguided ambitions and return home to his grieving _family_.”

The bitterness and resentment was clear in Loki’s voice, even as he tried to disguise it in sarcasm – a type of expression the spirit was quickly becoming familiar with.

“You think you could make Loki tell us where the Tesseract is?” the bald human asked Loki’s brother. Just as in the previous room, none of the occupants could discern the spirit or Loki. Not even the Asgardian was aware of their concealed presence, and he answered the commanding human while continuing to stare out into the night sky.

“I do not know. Loki’s mind is far afield. It’s not just power he craves – it’s vengeance, upon me. There’s no pain would prise his need from him.” His expression belonged to one who had given up his last vestiges of hope.

“A lot of guys think that, until the pain starts,” the human leader responded, slowly descending the stairs to draw the attention of the troubled Asgardian.

Instead of recoiling in horror at the idea of harming his kin for information, Thor replied, “What are you asking me to do?”

“I’m asking, what are you prepared to do?”

“Hmmm. I suppose bringing me home in an act of redemption and forgiveness was not on his mind after all,” Loki remarked lightly, though his glassy eyes and unsteady voice betrayed the underlying emotions.

“Loki is a prisoner,” Thor responded. By the expression on Loki’s face, his objections had come far too late.

“Then why do I feel like he’s the only person on this boat that wants to be here?” the commanding figure responded, glaring at Thor with his one demanding eye.

“The Director of SHIELD, Nicholas Fury. You can see it is little wonder how he came to lead this… organization. You could search for a more ruthless, cunning mortal, but you would be loath to find one.”

The earlier frailty in his voice was almost entirely gone, but it took note of the way his eyes lingered on Thor until after the visions had faded and they had returned to its cell.

“Now that you have laid eyes upon the merry band of misfits, what say you? Are they ready to face my legion of ravenous, battle-hardened Chitauri?”

It still remained on the floor, but Loki was now pacing the ground in the middle of the room, his own expression hungry and eager.

“It… does not find their odds encouraging.”

Loki displayed a smile devoid of all warmth as he continued to pace like an agitated animal.

“These… Chitauri. They still wait for you to bring them through another portal after the disintegration of the first?” it guessed, trying to piece together Loki’s goals, especially in regards to these particular human warriors.

It had not realized it had misspoken until Loki froze in his tracks. He slowly turned to stare at the spirit, his eyes like two spheres of ice while his expression remained unnervingly blank.

“You speak almost as if you are intimate with the details of the portal’s… mishap.”

Its mind rushed to find a suitable lie, but… perhaps it did not have to. Loki did not have to know about its role in the collapse of the portal in order for it to tell the truth. Or enough of the truth for it to sound as if there was no omission.

“It was sometimes aware of events that transpired during its imprisonment in the orb.”

Loki continued to stare with a hard intensity, and it suddenly wished it were not sitting on the floor where he could tower above its vulnerable form.

“Such as the portal’s destabilization? Were you aware of _that_ event?”

The spirit attempted to keep its voice steady as it answered truthfully but vaguely, “It witnessed the collapse.”

Loki stared down at it with half-closed eyes, his gaze judging the integrity of its words before asking:

“You were a phantasm of pure energy, once. Pray tell, how do you believe the portal came to implode as it did?” Loki’s tone indicated he was genuinely curious as to its thoughts, but his pale eyes held it in place in a way only he seemed capable of doing.

It was less worried about Loki’s intense gaze than about what was held behind them. Did he know? Did he suspect? He had paid little attention to the portal’s destruction while it had been occurring, and its lack of form during that time would have rendered the spirit unrecognizable to any being which relied heavily on physical senses.

But the Jotun-Asgardian did not just rely on physical senses, did he? He had already displayed a proficiency for manipulating energy, light, and mass. It was entirely possible that he could have sensed the spirit’s energy during the collapse and knew what it had done.

But if _that_ was the truth… he would not be asking the spirit for its thoughts now.

Having this knowledge brought it little comfort as Loki waited for its answer, his eyes blazing in a cold, blue fire.

“It… does not know.”

It could have attempted to lie, but it was unsure how familiar Loki was with the intricacies of opening a tear in space, and it was unfamiliar with telling falsehoods.

Truthfully, it did not know how to explain the precise properties of traveling through the folds of the universe. When it had been without form and substance, slipping through the cracks and crevices of the physical and anti-physical realms had come as naturally to it as breathing came to it now.

The Jotun-Asgardian appeared disappointed rather than angry, and it tried not to visibly show its relief as his intense eyes moved on. Instead, it asked:

“What of the red-haired female? Is she not also a warrior?”

Loki let out a derisive snort, clearly dismissive of the idea as he resumed his pacing, his hands held loosely behind his back.

“Agent Romanoff? She has no extraordinary abilities of her own. She poses little threat to me or my objectives.”

At that moment he paused in his pacing, half-turned, and smiled.

“I will return.”

And in a shimmering of green light, he was gone.

It barely had time to process all it had witnessed before Loki returned several minutes later, looking decidedly hot-tempered and rattled. It would have shrunk back as he reached down to grab the front of its garment, pulling it to its feet, but it had nowhere to retreat in its brightly-lit cell.

The volatile nature of his ever-changing moods made its entire body become rigid as he pressed his face close, mere inches away.

“When the doors open, bring my sceptre to me. Do not delay, or you will suffer my displeasure. And trust my words when I say I am _very_ displeased at the moment.”

It searched his eyes as every muscle in its form remained taut, the deranged light within his gaze trapping the breath in its throat. It did not breathe again until his form was consumed in the green light once more, the pressure from his projected grip vanishing.

Its breath was too shallow and its heart raced alarmingly fast. The spirit leaned against the wall while taking deep breaths until its body stopped reacting to the threatening words Loki had spoken. A realization came which caused its stomach to sink even further than his voice of malice had caused.

In order to follow Loki’s instructions, it would have to touch the loathsome apparatus.

 

* * *

 

“You want to know my secret, Agent Romanoff? You want to know how I stay calm?” Dr. Banner asked threateningly, his voice tight with growing anger.

Director Fury and Agent Romanoff subtly reached down for the pistols strapped against their hips as they watched the doctor’s movements closely.

“Dr. Banner… put down the sceptre,” Steve Rogers said in as calm a tone as possible.

Thor, Director Fury, Agent Romanoff, Tony Stark, and Steve Rogers all stared down at the sceptre, drawing Banner’s attention to the object in his hand. His expression went from hostility to confusion to befuddlement.

As he looked up at the group, their unnerved expressions watching carefully for any hint of green, he heard a beeping from the computer which meant the gamma radiation triangulation sequence was complete.

“Got it,” Fury commented, glancing back to the computer terminal.

“Sorry kids, you don’t get to see my party trick after all,” the doctor replied, setting the sceptre on the table as he walked briskly to his computer panel.

“You located the Tesseract?” Thor asked, a slender thread of hope in his voice.

“I could get there fastest,” Stark interjected quickly.

“The Tesseract belongs on Asgard. No human is a match for it,” the blond Asgardian proclaimed to the eccentric human.

“You’re not going alone,” Steve Rogers remarked, grabbing Stark by the arm as he attempted to leave the lab.

“You’re gonna stop me?” the inventor asked hotly, slapping away the unwanted physical contact.

“Put on the suit, let’s find out,” Rogers replied while Fury observed their absurd behavior with exasperation.

“I’m not afraid to hit an old man,” Stark said, overcoming his aversion to close proximity as he stood in Rogers’ face, challenging him.

“Put on the suit,” Rogers reiterated, meeting the challenge as they stood nearly chest to chest.

Meanwhile, the doctor ignored the confrontation between the men as he stared at Stark’s computer screen, removing his glasses as he stared with incredulity at what the triangulation results were telling him.

“Oh, my God,” Dr. Banner said, his voice combining dread and disbelief as he looked up at them.

“What is it?” Fury asked, his eye blazing at the doctor.

“There are… two gamma signatures matching the Tesseract. One of them is close. It’s… onboard. And it’s not the sceptre – I already excluded its signature from our search parameters.”

“Wait, wait. I thought you could only narrow the field within half a mile.” Stark pointed out, stepping away from Rogers as he eyed the former soldier warily.

“Typically, yes. But the spectrometers onboard are the most sophisticated in existence. Plus it’s… practically on top of us.” Dr. Banner looked closer at the screen, brushing his fingers across the surface as he overlaid the schematics of the Helicarrier with the triangulation results and asked:

“What’s in detention cell B-5?”

Agent Romanoff’s eyes widened in realization as she jerked her head towards Director Fury.

At that moment, an explosion ripped violently through the Helicarrier, sending the heroes flying in a concussive blast of flaming wreckage and flying debris.

 


	14. Harsh Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki makes his daring escape from the Helicarrier, and everything goes terribly wrong.

An explosion vibrated through the airborne ship, causing the spirit to be thrown from the slumber mat onto the floor from the concussive force. The deep rumble continued throughout the metal substratum, causing the lights to flicker with the threat of extinguishment, a low groan traveling throughout the skeleton of the flying behemoth.

Crawling to its knees, gasping for breath as its heart hammered in fear from being jostled in such a startling manner, it braced its shoulder against the wall, desperately wishing it knew what was happening outside of its windowless cell.

One possibility was obvious and most likely correct – Loki was acting on his purpose for being captured. It could only hope that purpose would not end in its painful death, and given the state of the Jotun-Asgardian’s unraveled mind, the end result of this event did not look promising.

It began to hear a blaring alarm sound through the ship, muffled by the thick walls surrounding its small prison. Either Loki had escaped where he was being held, or there was an additional source to the explosion.

After waiting for a minute or two in its frozen position on the ground, a deep, rumbling roar echoed through the metal walls, and its breath caught in its throat as its blood seemed to freeze in its veins. Whatever had made that horrible noise did not seem mechanical or chemical in nature.

It sounded decidedly… organic.

The spirit pulled itself to its feet, leaning against the cold, metallic wall in the event another vibration shook the facility. The spirit rubbed its knee through its thin grey clothing, investigating its surroundings but finding no handholds for it to remain balanced.

Luckily, no more bone-jolting explosions seemed to be forthcoming, but it shivered as it heard a second roar. The sound was full of rage and anguish, and the spirit hoped desperately it would not discover the cause of the noise.

Whatever Loki’s plan, it hoped he remembered they were a far distance from the planet’s surface.

A third roar echoed through the air structure several minutes later, and the spirit gave a start when its door suddenly slid open, and it could only stare in disbelief at the familiar face which greeted it from the doorway.

“Well, look who I found,” Barton said, a smile on his sweaty face. The warmth of his voice was somehow lost as azure eyes stared out from the dark circles around his sockets, the skin covering his cheekbones appearing raw and chafed. It recognized the look of sleep deprivation, as it suspected it had seen it on Loki’s own visage.

“Barton-Hawk?” the spirit inquired, speaking the original name it had used for him without realizing it had done so.

“Barton-Hawk. That’s cute,” he replied, his glowing eyes rapidly covering the interior of the cell in which it was contained, a stringed weapon in one hand while his other hand rested on the entryway.

“Are you well?” it asked, more concerned for his wellbeing than its own, even in the midst of the airborne siege.

“Peachy-keen. His Royal Godliness wants you to pick something up for him, so get to it. One level down, in the main lab.” The human disappeared from the doorway, only to reappear a second later, his eerie crystallized eyes focused on the spirit in a serious manner.

“Avoid the big green dude. He’s a dick.”

And with that mysterious warning, the assassin vanished a second time, already far from sight by the time the spirit exited its cell.

Even without the vague instructions left by the assassin, the spirit would have been able to locate the golden apparatus. In the back of the mind, it could feel the presence of the mind-jewel – drawn to the orb cradled within its blades. The pull had dulled with the separation of distance, and it had forgotten all about the weapon once they had entered the ship.

But now, it paid closer attention to that connection. Standing in the middle of the stone grey hallway, it cocked its head as the bright lights illuminated its surroundings in a steady glow, the lights having ceased their flickering. It was not listening for an audible sound, precisely, but it felt like a noise of the mind. It had only to follow the mental sensation to find the insidious source.

It ran through the various identical hallways, carefully looking around corners as it did so, finding odd relief in stretching its limbs after being sedentary for so long. Only the roars of the unknown entity made it move faster, causing it to bump into two heavily armored humans in black wearing the insignia of SHIELD on their sleeves.

They ignored it, running around the spirit and continuing their brisk pace with guns drawn across their chests. It blinked in confusion, but took advantage of their lack of attention and continued on its course into the bowels of the floating metal construct.

Sensing the orb of the sceptre somewhere below, it searched for a means of descent until it found a series of steps. It had to hide only once as two females and a male ran past, the SHIELD emblem displayed on the sleeves of their uniforms. The spirit did not understand the reason the first group of humans ignored its presence, so it hid in a side chamber until the sound of their footsteps faded.

Despite its reluctance for the destruction Barton was no doubt causing, judging by the distant sounds of the humans using their weapons, it had to admit he served as an excellent distraction for the spirit to reach its destination without harassment.

Once it entered the room where the golden apparatus had been held in the vision Loki had shown it, the spirit stopped short, eyes wide in alarm. The room was almost unrecognizable; sparks from severed cables showered the floor, the tables were bent or broken, and rubble and smoke littered the catastrophic scene.

Though the golden weapon was out of view, it could still sense its attention – a presence in the back of its mind, watching with vague curiosity and aloof intentions.

The spirit found a pile of concrete shards next to the completely twisted metal table on which the sceptre had previously sat upon. The large window to the outside atmosphere had not shattered, which was a pity, otherwise the bladed instrument might have been lost from decompression.

As it dug with its hands to pull pieces away from its buried goal, it could feel the mind-jewel waiting with eager anticipation.

The spirit warily observed the pieces of the weapon as they revealed themselves, a mixture of fear and curiosity as the exposed blade winked wickedly, its sharp curves neither nicked nor dented from the explosion that had clearly taken place.

As it pulled the last piece of concrete away, the spirit stared down at the sceptre without moving. It lay sparkling in the flickering artificial light, shimmering with reflections of electrical sparks, its orb slowly pulsing like a coiled creature’s steady breathing.

Trembling, delicate fingers reached forward toward the golden shaft, the intricate details of the handle calling to the creases of its palm.

It could not resist, and suddenly, it did not want to.

The spirit grabbed onto the metallic instrument and clasped its eyelids shut as a powerful sensation surged up its hand, into its arm, and across its chest. The energy rolled throughout its entire body, holding the spirit in its grasp as it was helpless to resist the tidal force.

The sensation was far from painful – it was quite the opposite, both seductive and heady as the fear completely melted away from its mind. There was nothing to fear. The spirit found it could easily siphon off the excess energy given off by the jewel, and it was enough to hold it enraptured in its intensity.

The presence of the mind-jewel was palpable, but contained within the orb where it could not harm the wielder. It could operate the mind-jewel however it wanted, separated from the raw power by the casing of the azure orb.

As the spirit held the warm, golden shaft in its tight grip, it opened its eyes to stare down at the object of its previous terror. It was no longer afraid. Why would it be, when the consciousness within the orb was bound to its will, forced to obey its every command?

The spirit was jolted from its trance as two large beings burst through the grating of the floor, raining more debris and sparks into the room.

It jumped to its feet and retreated to the entryway, gripping the sceptre tightly in its hands as it cautiously watched the yellow-haired Asgardian, who stared first at it, then at the sceptre, his eyes wide in alarm.

Before he could speak, a large, green creature towered over them both.

By luck or by providence, the beast did not notice the spirit as he snatched up the Asgardian in his large fists. He tossed Thor about the room with careless aggression, crushing him into the floor and throwing him into a wall as if he weighed nothing. The Asgardian grunted in distress, and the spirit stood frozen in indecision.

It had the sceptre – there was no reason to not immediately search for Loki. But it could not just leave his brother to be beaten and broken by this terrifying creature, could it?

As the beast was about to descend on the Asgardian once more, the spirit gripped the metal shaft tightly as it shouted at the impossibly muscled beast.

“Stop!”

The beast paused and looked back in confusion, blinking stupidly.

It blinked in return. It had not actually expected the looming creature to listen.

Out of the corner of its eye, it saw a dark shape hovering in the distance through the large bay window. It barely had time to turn its head before the glass was shattered, displaced air rushing through the opening as the dark shape sprayed the back of the beast with pellets which only seemed to ricochet harmlessly from his green skin.

This broke the spirit’s temporary paralysis, and it backed from room as the beast turned and roared in fury.

The Asgardian shielded his head and jumped clear on the opposite side, staring back at the spirit once he obtained safety from the beast and the weapons trained on the hulking form.

Before Loki’s brother could decide to give chase – now that the green beast had decided to leap out of the window onto the air vessel which had attacked him – the spirit ran, the sceptre gripped tightly in hand.

Despite now being the target of the Asgardian, it found the idea of fear difficult to experience with the sceptre in its palm. The warm metal seemed to thrum against its skin, creating a slight vibration up its forearm that traveled down into its legs, giving it the impression that it could continually run for a limitless amount of time. The sensation was engrossing, and it wondered how Loki always seemed to hold the apparatus with a casualness that did not indicate any sort of sensation whatsoever from the shaft.

Perhaps it would ask him, if it could find him and he was not in a throat-gripping frame of mind.

_Where will it find Loki?_

It had barely conjured the question in its mind before it instantly knew the answer. On the same level as the laboratory, contained in a special isolation cell far away from the detention area where the spirit had been sequestered.

The spirit had not even attempted to tap into the abilities and secrets of the jewel and it was already obeying its desires. It could begin to understand why Loki found it so easy to wield when it had once been an instrument of his torment.

Testing the assumption that the mind-jewel would obey its mental commands, the spirit focused its attention on a group of approaching humans. They were additional SHIELD soldiers, racing down the hallway, and it wished the desire to remain unnoticed by them.

Standing against the wall, it realized it need not have bothered, as the humans gave it a noticeable berth in the narrow hallway. They did not so much as glance in its direction.

The spirit stared down at the weapon in awe, but it was shaken from its reverie as the aircraft began to slowly tilt to one side.

There was little time remaining.

The spirit paused as it took in the reality of Loki’s cell once it reached its destination, having arrived without being caught by the humans or Thor. The space was far different from its own confined quarters, and it was not so much a room as it was a circular glass and metal container, shining a sickly pale light down on the Jotun-Asgardian.

Loki was sitting on a ledge built into the side of the spherical tank, but he looked up as soon as the spirit entered the room. He appeared puzzled as his pale eyes traced over and past where it stood. He slowly walked to the glass, his eyes narrowed as his hands clenched at his sides.

“Reveal yourself,” he commanded, and the spirit was startled to realize it was invisible even to the Jotun-Asgardian’s perceptions, at least partially. It took the time to truly observe his appearance, spared from his intense gaze as it scrutinized his towering form.

He was the same creature it had spared from a drawn-out, miserable death in the darkest void. It had offered its energy to bring him life, even intertwined itself within his core. It had tried to spare him again from the hands of the twisted tormentor.

So what had happened to Loki to so fundamentally change his manners, his thoughts, his desires?

Perhaps it wished to stop the Jotun-Asgardian from reigning destruction on the humans. It could possibly put him under the control of the mind-jewel and force him to stop his dangerous plan. Molding the wills of others was the express purpose of the artifact from what it had observed thus far.

Would that be the right course of action? Objectively, it would seem to be. So why did it feel so… wrong?

Was controlling another, even to do so for the betterment of others, the correct use of the weapon? Or was it morally reprehensible to remove the ability for a being to make decisions for themselves, even if those decisions brought harm to others?

“I know you are there,” Loki said in a low growl, interrupting its internal debate as it stared up into his face, made bleak by the unnatural lighting from above.

It willed itself to be seen, and the surprised look on Loki’s face indicated he had not expected the spirit to be the unseen intruder he had somehow sensed in his presence. He cleared his throat and smoothed over his expression of astonishment, a quick smile spreading across his pale features.

“You have been successful, I see.” Loki paused, seemingly waiting for a response, but it offered none. The strange sensation from the golden apparatus was pulling its focus inward, and it took concerted effort to focus on his words.

“The controls for my release are located on this side,” he instructed, wasting no time as he walked to another facet of his transparent cell, the spirit mimicking his progression from the outer walkway as it returned its attention to his form. He appeared unharmed, and it estimated that Thor had not accepted the leading human’s suggestion to torture his brother for information.

“But… be cautious,” he warned as the spirit approached the indecipherable panel, eyes narrowed as it studied the conduit through which the Jotun-Asgardian could be freed. “Do _not_ press the large, red button. Do you understand how to work a computer console?”

Tracing its eyes over the translucent screen as it carefully allowed a trickle of knowledge to flow into its consciousness from the limitless mind-jewel, it replied:

“It does now.”

Reaching its hand forward, it input the commands which would unlock the pressurized, magnetized glass door. The display on the computer was now as familiar to the spirit as… well, anything else in this strange world.

Glancing to the Jotun-Asgardian, it did not miss the relief that briefly flickered in his eyes as he turned, quickly striding to the exit and stepping from his circular confinement.

The spirit did not move, and Loki purposefully approached where it stood, his footsteps slowly traversing the grated walkway as he gave a charming smile that indicated confidence which never quite reached his eyes.

“I knew my trust in you was well-placed. Hand me my sceptre.”

It did not want to part with the sceptre – or rather, with the mind-jewel inside of the orb. It cared not for the wicked blades, nor did it really desire the ability to manipulate perceptions and dominate mental abilities.

But it did enjoy the powerful energies thrumming just under its skin, its limbs tingling with strength and vitality.

“Now… please.”

It noticed the growing unease in Loki’s eyes. The realization that perhaps, in all of his planning, in all of his scheming and plotting and strategizing, he had miscalculated when he had not factored in his creation and her possible connection to-

Its muscles tensed at the realization it was actually skimming Loki’s mind, unconsciously observing his thoughts as soon as he formed them.

The spirit placed the shaft of the sceptre in his hand, quickly releasing before it could unwittingly cause damage with its reluctance to part with the object.

Immediately, the feed of energy was severed and it felt suddenly frail and vulnerable. It had to take several breaths and brace its hands against the nearby railing in order to stop itself from collapsing from the sudden absence of strength. Already, it yearned for the vitality and absolute confidence which came from holding the apparatus – two experiences which had been completely foreign to the spirit in this body.

As Loki stared down at it, the sceptre gripped firmly in one palm, he appeared almost…

There were heavy footsteps outside of the entryway into the vast room, and suddenly the large, dirty, battle-weary brother of Loki appeared in the entryway from the opposite side of the room.

A grin slowly curled on Loki’s lips that appeared more mischievous than malicious.

Thor’s startlingly blue eyes passed over them without so much as pausing, instead focusing on the door of the cell which was reopening on the other side in an illusionary escape attempt by an illusionary Loki.

“No!” he yelled in horror, running forward and leaping at the mirage, which crouched in a show of bracing for an attack.

The Asgardian passed through and landed heavily on the floor of the cell.

Loki reached past the spirit and input the commands to close the door. It watched in mounting concern as the Jotun-Asgardian dropped the illusion, standing squarely in front of the glass with his hands resting behind his back.

“Are you ever not going to fall for that?”

Loki gave a low chuckle as Thor stared at him in growing frustration, the solid grey hammer held tight in his hand as he appeared prepared to smash in the glass of the enclosure.

“I’m being quite rude, aren’t I? You have not been properly introduced,” Loki remarked genially, glancing back to where the spirit remained frozen, transfixed by the scene.

“Trinity, meet my golden brother, Thor _Odinson_ ,” he said, flourishing his arm in a grand gesture toward his captive.

“Thor, meet Trinity Frost. She’s… well, you could say she’s the newest addition to our well-adjusted little family.” The grin he fixed onto his brother was filled with dark humor as indicated the spirit, who stood slightly further down the walkway.

“I daresay Mother and Father will be pleased. They are _so_ fond of taking in strays.”

The spirit focused its gaze on Loki, head slightly tilted as it tried to interpret his statement. Thor, as well, appeared not to comprehend his words, his eyebrows drawn together over his bright blue orbs.

“Imagine it Thor: I wielded the power of the Tesseract to create a completely unique being, and the humans used it to forge the tools of their destruction. They sent out the siren’s call to all who would listen and attracted the cognizance of a Mad Titan.” Loki’s voice, at first amused and light, gradually evolved into a bitter snarl by the end of his explanation.

“And yet, they claim _I_ am the monster,” he snarled, the color of his voice nothing short of pure loathing and hatred. The spirit could almost feel the negative emotions radiating from his presence, and it tried its best not to recoil from his wrath.

“What have you done, brother?” spoke the deep voice of the yellow-haired Asgardian, his eyes desperately searching between Loki and the spirit, who could not completely hide the apprehension it experienced from Loki’s thunderous emotions.

“What I have always done, _brother_. I am only looking after my own interests.”

This garnered an instant reaction from Thor as he brought his heavy hammer down against the glass of the cage in an expression of fury.

An ominous rumble traveled through the room as the cell shook, a web of cracks appearing in one small portion of the glass. The spirit glanced up and realized the cage was being held with large, powerful clamps which looked as if they were in the process of giving way.

Thor and Loki seemed to realize this as well. The two brothers stood stock still, and for a moment their faces were identical in an expression of surprise.

Then the enclosed brother silently pled with his eyes as the free brother gave a soft chuckle, slowly turning his back with a surreptitious grin on his face.

“The humans think us immortal. Should we test that?” Loki asked in sudden good humor as he approached the transparent display.

The spirit looked between the two Asgardians and was about to speak when something unpleasantly warm pressed between its shoulder blades.

“Move away, please,” spoke the oddly pleasant voice of Agent Coulson of SHIELD from behind, apparently having crept into the room during the sibling confrontation.

The spirit slowly looked over its shoulder at the agent, only able to see him and the black object he held in the periphery of its limited vision.

Loki stood completely still, examining the object pressed into its back with his pale eyes, his expression somehow different. Serious. No longer smirking and chortling. His eyes were clear and focused, as if the madness had temporarily lifted from his mind.

He slowly moved away from the panel.

“You like this?” Agent Coulson asked, pushing the object harder into its back, forcing it to walk forward. “We started working on the prototype after you sent the Destroyer.”

Loki moved further away from the panel and slowly began to approach, his palms facing forward in a show of non-threat.

“Even I don’t know what it does,” Coulson said, the pressure on its back lessening as he came to a stop.

“Do you want to find out?”

It heard a high-pitched whine as the object in his hands came to life, and it felt the sizzling heat of the object through its thin grey garment.

Its eyes widened in fear as it stared silently at the Jotun-Asgardian.

That was when it noticed something out of place. The golden apparatus was not in his hand, and had not been since the human had-

“Urgh!”

It whirled around at the cry of pain, the sickening sound of something sharp slicing through flesh and bone accompanying the noise of agony. It stared, dumbfounded, unable to process what was happening even while its eyes observed with logical precision.

Loki had slid behind Coulson of SHIELD without the spirit even noticing, either with the power of the mind-jewel or with his own acumen of light manipulation.

He was killing the human. That was obvious from the red-tipped blade which had sprouted from the center of his chest.

Even though it knew Loki must have taken a life before this, even though it knew what he was capable of, it still could not move. It could not breathe.

“No!” came the tortured cry of Loki’s trapped brother from behind, helpless to stop the lethal wounding of the human as he slammed his fist against the glass cage wall.

Loki retracted the cruel blade, now dripping with the scarlet liquid which fueled these bodies, and moved past the human as he collapsed, the heavy weapon on his lap slowly dimming as if in synchronicity to the being who held it.

Loki did not look at the spirit as he brushed past, his expression hard and cold as he returned to his previous task.

The spirit continued to stare down at the human in shock, unable to turn away from the red color blossoming across the light blue fabric covering his torso. Coulson of SHIELD stared back at it, his eyes glazed with moisture, his lips slightly parted as he gasped for breath.

It could hear the strained, belabored breathing of the human, could hear the harsh breaths of the Asgardian, and yet it found it could not breathe.

Air was finally pulled into its lungs as a large gale of air rushed past, pulled down through the opening in the floor as Loki caused the aperture to slide back to reveal the vast sky far below.

The maddening smile had returned as Loki stared at his brother, a hand resting on the display as the other gripped the sceptre, its bloody grin shining around the eye of the orb.

Loki’s hand hovered above the release while staring at Thor, as if waiting for the Asgardian to plead for his life.

Thor remained silent.

The spirit was also without speech, its mind thoroughly paralyzed, unable to process in a logical and clear manner the events as they were happening.

The Asgardian slowly walked backwards, examining his surroundings before stopping. He was gauging where the direct center of the circular chamber was located and stood there, his feet slightly apart. He was resigned to what he knew was coming next.

Loki pressed the button.

“No,” it tried to yell. Nothing emerged but a faint whisper, its body as uncooperative as its mind, its lungs refusing to obey.

The massive clamps were released, and the circular cell plunged out of view in a loud screech of metal scrapping against metal.

The Asgardian was gone.

The spirit could not look away from the empty space which the chamber had just occupied. Two living, sentient beings, dying before its eyes.

And it had done nothing.

“You’re going to lose,” a quiet voice spoke from behind. It slowly turned and saw Coulson of SHIELD still clinging to life. He was staring up at Loki, who appeared curiously unexpressive for having just sentenced his brother to a death-fall.

“Am I?” he asked, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“It’s in your nature,” the human replied, maroon liquid trailing from the corner of his mouth. Despite his predicament, his voice was surprisingly steady and his eyes, while beginning to dim, were devoid of fear.

“Your heroes are scattered,” Loki replied, eyes narrowed as he began to slowly approach the fallen human.

“Your floating fortress falls from the sky.”

He held out his arms, eyebrows curved inwards in perplexity.

“Where is my disadvantage?”

“You lack conviction,” the male responded, his voice filled with plenty of his own.

Loki’s eyes changed, for the briefest of moments – exposing a brief, naked vulnerability.

“I don’t think I’m-“

A fiery ball of orange slag slammed him in the chest, carrying him backwards and blasting him through the wall, leaving behind a melting, glowing hole which smelled of melted metal and burning flesh.

“So, that’s what it does.”

Staring at the hole in terror, the paralysis on its body broke as it rushed to the smoking crater in the wall, every fiber of its body electrified at the prospect of the Jotun-Asgardian being mortally wounded.

But it saw he was still alive, groaning in a collapsed heap as thick smoke rose from somewhere near his torso.

Its mind blind to growing panic, it was about to enter the gaping hole when it heard the strained, soft voice of Coulson of SHIELD.

“I wouldn’t have… have shot you… You know that, right?”

Forcing its eyes to be dragged away from the groaning Loki, it gazed back at the fallen human. Even now, even witnessing these monstrous acts, it illogically wanted to shield the Jotun-Asgardian from harm.

But the human was dying. And he deserved to have his last words heard.

The spirit commanded its shaking, awkward body to move, kneeling in front of the Coulson of SHIELD, its eyes unable to look elsewhere but the fleshy wound in his chest.

“It is sorry,” it said, feeling there was nothing else it could say. It did not blame him for attacking the one who had mortally wounded him, and it felt a painful pressure in its chest at the sight of the fading light in his eyes.

“It did not mean for this to happen,” it offered uselessly when he did not speak, its eyes strangely burning as its mind tried to deny the situation, and how awry it had become in so short a time span.

“Whoever you are… you don’t have to… to follow him. He’s not your… responsibility….”

The spirit’s eyes snapped upward to meet his, widening at his startlingly perceptive words. The human merely stared back, smiling slightly despite the agony he was no doubt experiencing.

The human’s time was near. It could sense the soul within, preparing to leave its mortal shell. The ache in its chest became twofold – sorrow for playing a part in his death, and a hollow emptiness at knowing he would soon experience freedom in a way that was now denied to the spirit.

It reached out a slightly trembling hand and placed it on his shoulder. It did not know the appropriate methods of offering comfort, but this felt right. The human gave it a small smile before closing his eyes, leaving the spirit to wonder why there was such a deep pain in its chest accompanied by an alarming tightness in its throat.

Feeling numb, unsteady, and completely exhausted, it stumbled its way to the smoking wound in the wall. Loki was within, panting as he managed to rise to his hands and knees, his garments and hair wafting streams of acrid smoke.

Without waiting for instructions or demands, the spirit knelt down and braced its shoulders under his arm. Gingerly, it pulled him to his feet, and he did not resist. In fact, Loki braced his weight willingly against the spirit’s physical form, awkwardly holding the sceptre in one hand while he gripped its shoulder with the other.

The power of the weapon had traveled onwards and knocked through another wall, allowing the spirit to pull Loki into the next room, which the spirit was grateful for. The strain on its emotional state was enormous enough without having to see the fallen human a second time, or be reminded of what Loki had done to his kin.

The spirit led Loki as carefully as possible into a hallway, identical to all of the others, before stumbling as the colossal air vessel began to descend on an uneven plane once more. Loki’s shifting weight caused it to stumble as it struggled to keep them upright, but its legs shook and it felt a strange queasiness in its chest. The two fell to their knees, and it could not move under Loki’s arm, let alone pull him to his feet again.

It held out its hand across his body.

“Hand it the sceptre.”

Loki was still panting, his breath harsh and uneven as sweat beaded on his pale forehead. A dark circle of burned flesh was stamped onto his chest, and it was uncomfortably reminded of the burn mark it had left on the chest of the alien creature in another lifetime. The scorched circle on his chest was deep enough to reveal the surface of his bones, and it knew the wound must have been causing him great pain.

“Your injuries are grievous. You must trust it.”

“Not… an… it…” he responded weakly, a ghost of a smile on his pallid face. But he handed over the weapon despite the misgivings he no doubt had regarding the spirit handling the golden apparatus.

As soon as its fingertips touched the metal, it felt the seductive and now-familiar surge that filled its limbs with potential force and energy.

Gripping his side firmly, it pulled them both into a standing position with ease. It also made a conscious effort to not _think_. Not about concealing them from the perceptions of others, nor about wishing to mold the will of the humans to its benefit. No thinking anything at all.

This turned out to be impossible for a being with a brain.

“Where do you wish to go?” it asked, and before Loki could open his mouth, the response came across its mind. There was an aircraft waiting on the surface of the Helicarrier which would lead him to a prearranged meet with Dr. Selvig, who would have the Tesseract and-

“Yes, it sees the Quinjet. Please stop thinking, it is distracting.”

This caused Loki’s mind to light up in alarm, and it quickly thrust the sceptre back into his hands. He took the weapon and it nearly trembled with relief – it had managed to hand off the golden instrument before it had completed its thought of wishing Loki would be mentally silent.

The hum of energy left its bones as soon as its palm left the metal shaft, but it was more than willing to part with the weapon this time. It was also able to walk easier under the weight of the Jotun-Asgardian now that some energy had been restored to its weak body.

“You need mending,” it remarked, looking up into his face, unsure as to how his race healed themselves in instances of physical damage.

“I will be made whole, soon enough,” he replied, his tone gruff as they began to ascend a set of metallic stairs. By the time they reached the top, the spirit was sufficiently winded, but Loki seemed to be looking more alert and healthy, glimpses of pale bone no longer visible from his chest.

“You failed to mention the sceptre grants you the power to hide yourself from my sight… as well as allow you to walk freely through my thoughts.” Loki’s tone of voice was even, but it could feel the sharp edges waiting out of view. The grip on its shoulder was uncomfortably tight.

“There was little time afforded to share this information,” it replied, wincing and raising its hand to block the sunlight which blinded as they left the inner workings of the massive air vessel called the Helicarrier. The strong air current in the exposed atmosphere caused its long hair to become rebellious in the wind. Loki’s hair, ordinarily sculpted into perfectly coordinated locks which curled upwards at the end like barbs, was now frazzled and unkempt, matching the expression on his face.

The spirit led them across the flat surface of the massive aircraft towards the Quinjet it had seen in his mind. Debris littered the surface of the behemoth vessel, and smoke flew into the sky from several different locations.

Loki released his grip and walked gingerly up the ramp once they reached the small transport, limping and using the sceptre as a means to brace his weight as his legs seemed unable to fully support him.

The Quinjet was empty, save for an unfamiliar human to pilot the aircraft.

“Where is Barton?”

“Obviously not here,” Loki replied, settling himself into the nearest seat with a wince of discomfort.

“We must locate him.”

“We must _do_ nothing but leave,” he replied bitingly, lightly touching the rapidly healing skin on his chest, a wave of green light replacing the armor which had been burned to a cinder by the strange weapon Coulson of SHIELD had wielded against him.

“Stop this foolishness. He was a useful tool, and now his time of usefulness has passed.”

It stopped just short of the edge of the ramp, his callous words triggering something – a change inside of the spirit as an unseen, unknown line was crossed.

“No.”

The Jotun-Asgardian looked up, his pale blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

“What did you say?”

The spirit took an uneven breath, steeling its nerves, having made a conscious decision of what it would do regarding its wayward Jotun-Asgardian.

“You wished for it to see what you see. To have its own perceptions join yours.” It focused its full gaze on his, trying not to shiver before his electrifying vision. “This is how it must do so. It has to find another way to your side of understanding.”

It took a step back.

“You will _not_. You will come to me. _Now_.”

It perceived the slithery tendrils of the mind-jewel reach out, hungrily searching for the spirit to ensnare its mind in a sinewy web of deceit and irresistible control. The Jotun-Asgardian had moved beyond violent words, and was now attempting to take it by force.

Lifting its head and squaring its shoulders, it took another step back. It would not go, and it mustered all of its willpower to focus on this one thought:

_It will not go._

The tendrils of mental dominance evaporated before it could touch the spirit, wisps of golden threads vanishing in the wind.

As the aircraft began to lift into the air, the closing hatch slowly blocking their view of one another, Loki’s expression broke.

It would have been so much more preferable if he had glowered in seething anger. If he had raged like an inferno or screamed his threats at the top of his lungs.

Anything but his wide eyes, red around the rims, his lips pressed tightly together as his eyebrows creased into an expression of naked pain.

Anything but that look of utter devastation which haunted it long after the Quinjet had disappeared into the sky-sea of blue.

 


	15. Damaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spirit's decision has far-reaching consequences, exposing wounds long-buried.

The spirit surrendered itself peacefully, waiting on the flat top of the gargantuan flying machine which had thankfully stopped tipping precariously to one side.

The small army of uniformed males and females surrounding it with large, black weapons pointed at its head seemed overly cautious given that it was completely defenseless and exposed without the bestowed power of the mind-jewel.

After the humans were finished shouting different variations of “Don’t move!” which it had not done since their arrival, one of them came forward and placed heavy manacles on its wrists. As it was escorted back through the air vessel, it surveyed the impressive damage, and looked with wide eyes at the infrequent corpses. The emergency had finally passed, and the humans were only just beginning to gather their dead.

It was led back to its original cell, which was not surprising.

What was surprising was when the door opened several minutes later, and a very large, very muscled, and very upset blue-clad individual stormed into the room, grabbed it by the shirt, lifted it up, and shoved it against the wall.

 

* * *

 

“Whoa, whoa, Cap, slow down. Cap!” Anthony Stark yelled as the blond man built like a brick-house power-walked down the hallway, his steely hands clenched in impressively large fists.

Rogers had gotten this _look_ on his face when they had all been informed of Agent Coulson’s death at the hands of the mad demigod. They had all been devastated of course, but Cap had looked particularly affected. His baby blue eyes had looked like they were about to spill over into tears, which made Tony want to either awkwardly pat his arm or run from the room as quickly as possible.

Instead, Tony had ended up chasing after Rogers, seeing the murderous light in his eyes after Agent Hill had informed Director Fury that they had recaptured the groupie who had been picked up with Loki in Stuttgart.

And apparently, she had helped him escape.

Why Agent Hill had decided to reveal such sensitive information in front of Tony and Rogers after Fury had given them the guilt trip speech of the century, he could only speculate.

And Tony was excellent at speculation. He could swear by his entire Rolling Stones vinyl collection that Fury and Hill pulled this kind of shit on purpose. You didn’t become the head of the intelligence community by playing the game fairly, with all of the players even aware they were taking part in the sport.

Tony had not forgotten Dr. Banner’s revelation just before the ship had almost been taken out by a dude with a bow and arrow – the girl had been giving off gamma radiation similar to the Tesseract. If Rogers strangled the life out of her now, they might not find the Tesseract in time – not when Banner had decided to go green and skydive without a parachute.

Besides, Rogers was supposed to be the responsible, sensible one in this band of lunatics. Their moral center. Or their moral compass. One of those silly metaphors which placed the Captain as the gushy center of their collective Tootsie-Pop.

If he went around strangling helpless prisoners, Tony might lose his spot as the bad-decision-maker in-residence. And the devastatingly traumatic Cap, hovering over the lifeless corpse of said prisoner, would be too nauseating to bear.

So Tony tried his best to hang on to the bicep of the Pissed-Off Boy of America, and he managed to slow him down not even a little.

“Hey, Cap! Remember… that time… I jumped out of the back of the Quinjet… in order to chase down two gods? That was stupid, right? This… is kind of like that,” Tony said through gritted teeth, his words staggered when he could catch his breath, the heels of his ludicrously expensive Louis Vuittons sliding across the metal flooring of the hallway.

“Only in this situation… you’re the god… and she’s the tiny little squishy human.”

It would have been extremely funny if Tony wasn’t genuinely worried Rogers had snapped and decided to go on a homicidal rampage. To be perfectly honest, he hadn’t thought the late agent and supersoldier had been _that_ close.

But in Tony’s experience, it was always the people who seemed to have it the most together who ended up being the quickest to break. They snapped like rubber bands left forgotten in a kitchen drawer for ten dry years.

Personally, he chose to blame Fury. The stuff with the blood-splattered Captain America collector’s cards had felt expertly and ingeniously manipulative. Maybe Fury even coated the cards with blood after the fact, which was highly macabre with a dash of brilliant. Maybe they hadn’t even _been_ in Coulson’s pocket.

Hell, maybe it wasn’t even blood, and Fury had smeared strawberry jelly from the commissary on the cards. Tony wouldn’t put it past him.

The sneaky, conniving one-eyed bastard.

Rogers had bought it though, hook-line-and-sinker. And now he was looking for someone to share his pain with, and not in a healthy let’s-talk-out-our-feelings way.

_Well Fury, if your goal was to turn Captain Goody-Two Shoes into Die Hard with a Vengeance, congratulations – you succeeded._

The Captain remained stubbornly single-minded and shook Tony off as if he was a toddler trying to grab hold of his annoyed father’s arm. Not that he still resented the fact his father had done something very similar to that when he was four years old – Tony wasn’t one to hold grudges.

Rogers, now entering detention cell B-5 as he ignored the sole voice of reasonable wisdom, strode quickly across the small room and picked the fragile-looking girl up by her shirt, slamming her into the wall.

Ouch.

Cap held his face an inch away from hers, his expression cold fury as her eyes widened in alarm.

Tony reacted without thinking, grabbing onto the muscly arm which held the girl against the wall, tugging as if he could possibly budge it. Rogers reached over with his other hand, placed his palm against Tony’s face, and _shoved_.

Tony landed flat on his ass, and he would have begun to shout a colorful assortment of explicit words and phrases, but the color draining from the face of the girl temporarily halted his need to lash out from his injured pride.

After all, his ass was fine – it was his damn ego that had taken a massive hit.

Instead, Tony stealthily reached up to his ear and opened his comms to the one person he knew _might_ be able to calm Rogers down, and he left the comm open while he attempted to soothe the fuming soldier, as if he were talking down a rabid German Shepherd holding a cute little bunny in his jaws.

“Champ, come on. Let’s take a second to think this through,” he said as he slowly pulled himself to his feet, wincing slightly as he rubbed his hindquarters.

“Where… is… he?”

Tony Stark had never seen Steve Rogers this angry, even when Loki had sucker punched him in the stomach and spin-kicked him across the courtyard in Germany. Hell, he hadn’t looked this mad in the old war reels where he was knocking down Hydra soldiers like they were bowling pins. Cap had looked like he was having a grand ol’ time compared to the dark expression on his face now.

And Tony was beginning to realize why. He had read Rogers’ file extensively – as he had done to the others after the tenacious Coulson had left their files at Stark Tower, interrupting his perfect night-in with one deliciously beautiful Virginia Potts (though considering the agent was now dead, Tony supposed he could forgive him for the intrusion).

A close ally being viciously murdered by a supervillain with the Tesseract in his possession was a brutal reminder to the supersoldier of his traumatic past. If Tony was correct, and Rogers was reliving his loss of one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, this situation was going to end only one way.

That was, if the cavalry didn’t arrive soon.

“It… does not know,” the girl replied strangely, her dark eyes staring unblinkingly at the Captain.

“ _Not good enough_!” Cap shouted, pulling her slightly forward and slamming her into the wall again.

“Jesus, Rogers! For Christ’s sake-“

Had the maniac forgotten he was a _supersoldier_ and moves like that could easily kill someone, especially a girl who looked like she was more porcelain doll than human?

“You better tell me something. A good man, a _great_ man, died because of your boss, or your idol, or whatever he is. Coulson’s death is on _your_ head just as much as his,” he glowered, one accusatory finger pointing at her face.

The girl paled even more, and her eyes were wide and unblinking, but she kept her lips firmly pressed together. Smart.

Tony slowly walked forward, moving cautiously and with great care in case he agitated Rogers even more than he already was. He spoke in a hushed, reasonable tone of voice as he said:

“Hey, Steve, come on man. She didn’t do anything to Coulson. You know the person you’re _really_ pissed at is probably a thousand miles away, so you’re taking all of your anger, and grief, and frustration out on whoever is nearby and handy.”

The Captain didn’t release the girl, but he wasn’t throttling her, so that was progress.

“Besides, she gave herself up after Loki’s escape. That has to count for something, right?”

“Right. Because we haven’t seen that little act before,” Rogers responded, never taking his eyes from the girl he had pinned against the wall.

“Fair point. But she isn’t Loki, is she? Just some poor sap who was swept up in his glamour and charm, and probably doesn’t have a clue what’s _really_ going on,” Tony responded softly, praying his words were getting through to the former soldier, reminding him that, unlike Tony, Rogers genuinely was some kind of hero. And this wasn’t how heroes were supposed to react in moments of crisis.

Tony took a risk and gently placed his hand on Rogers’ shoulder, trying not to become distracted by how stupidly buff the supersoldier was, and how he would pester Cap later about his exercise regimen. He had never gotten an answer on the Quinjet, and he would be damned if he wouldn’t find out the old man’s secret. It couldn’t _just_ be the supersoldier serum, unless it was like permanent steroids that gave the man an eternal physique like that of a Greek god-

“You’re right,” Rogers said quietly, forcing Tony’s fickle attention span back to the intense situation. The Captain released his hold on the neckline of the girl’s top, his expression no longer one of uncontrollable rage, only vague disgust and loathing as his blue eyes gave her a glare full of said emotions. “She’s not worth it.”

The girl didn’t sigh in relief, or shake, or cry, or respond as any other normal human being would when faced with an enraged supersoldier. She just stared at Rogers as if she were doing a fairly convincing impression of an owl.

Then again, she had been all cozy with Loki, right? The girl couldn’t be all that rational to begin with.

“I thought you boys were done trying to undermine SHIELD,” a flat voice remarked from the doorway. Rogers and Tony both turned to meet the owner of the voice. The Captain at least had the good graces to look sheepish, like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar after attempting to smash it against the counter in a fit of rage.

“Agent Romanoff, my hero. You know, you’re almost as punctual as Pepper on her worst day. Have I told you lately how much I miss having you as my assistant?”

“Yes. And the answer hasn’t changed: you can’t afford me,” the red-headed assassin replied without missing a beat. Her evergreen eyes slid past the men to the girl who hadn’t moved from where Rogers had forced her against the wall.

“Mind stepping out, gentlemen? I think you’ve done more than enough by harassing my prisoner.”

Tony raised his eyebrows at the phrase “my prisoner” while Rogers muttered an apology, eyes downcast. Tony could almost see the Dunce cap on his head as he was reprimanded for being a bad boy. It was a much funnier image than one of Cap sobbing over the body of a girl he had just strangled with his bare hands.

Which actually wasn’t funny at all, now that Tony thought about it.

“Come on, Spangles. It’s hunting season on kooky gods, and I know of one in particular with an _impressive_ rack,” Tony said, attempting his most dashing smile as he led the Captain of Contrition from the prison cell, hoping that Agent Romanoff would do what she did best and get some information from the girl while mitigating whatever damage Rogers had caused.

And, you know, comfort her and stuff. That wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world.

The awkward smile on Rogers’ face from Tony’s innuendo confirmed that he hadn’t gone off the deep end quite yet – the soldier had just decided to bungee jump off the edge and give the inventor an unhealthy dose of panic.

The casual hand Tony left on the man’s shoulder was there to guide him as much as it was to give him a modicum of sympathy. Coulson’s death really had deeply affected them all. Only, some members of the team were more honest with their emotions than others.

For that, Tony Stark had to admit, he was more than a little envious of Steve Rogers.

 

* * *

 

The spirit watched the two warriors as they departed, particularly the one in blue who had roughly shoved it against the hard wall of its cell.

Twice.

Either the males of this planet were especially violent, or it inadvertently brought out this reaction in humans despite its passivity. But from the interactions it had seen, as well as the films Loki had forced it to observe, it was going to side with the former.

But the human that Loki had referred to as Captain America had not been entirely incorrect, and his anger was not unfounded. The Jotun-Asgardian was responsible for the death of Coulson of SHIELD, and it could not deny the role it had played in that death.

Had it made a critical error in remaining behind? Would the humans provide aid when it requested their help, or would they dismiss its concerns and imprison it once more?

The red-haired female stared in silence with a blank expression of observation, which the spirit returned as it ignored the throbbing ache in the bones below its neck – a reminder of the angered attentions of the shield-warrior.

After a long minute, the human uncrossed her arms and her lips twitched with amusement.

“Not many people can match me in a stare-off.”

The spirit said nothing, wary after the confrontation with the female’s ally.

“I’m sorry about Rogers,” she apologized, as if knowing the thoughts which had just crossed its mind. “Coulson’s death hit him pretty hard. He was a good man, you know?”

Yes, the shield-warrior said as much after he had implicitly threatened it with bodily harm, it wanted to reply. But it did not.

Instead, it said, “And it is regretful of Coulson of SHIELD’s death.”

The female’s face softened, almost imperceptibly, and she asked, “I can call medical and they can give you a look-over.”

“No,” the spirit interjected immediately, causing the human to slightly tilt her head. “It does not need healing,” it clarified, its aversion to the humans coming into contact with its body outweighing the discomfort the shield-warrior had caused with his aggression.

“All right,” the female replied, nodding her head in acknowledgement. Surprised that this human would respect the spirit’s wishes, it experienced a small amount of courage to ask the question which had been on its mind since the circular cell had plummeted into oblivion.

“Does Thor still live?”

The female’s expression returned to its closed state, but her eyes narrowed just enough to leave the spirit with the impression that she found the question of interest.

“We aren’t sure, but Thor is an Asgardian. If anyone could survive that fall, it would be him.”

The spirit looked down towards the floor, inadvertently revealing its culpability at what had befallen Loki’s brother. It did not know what strife had passed between the two Asgardians to open a gulf so wide, but they were still part of a familial unit. That had to hold some kind of importance. Maybe even act as a tether to pull Loki away from the madness which held him within its grasp.

“Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Agent Natasha Romanoff. Your name is Trinity Frost, right?”

The spirit looked back up to the human, replying with a singular “Yes”, believing the information was safe to confirm. It watched the female as she slowly walked around her half of the room, respectfully keeping her distance so as not to appear threatening.

This human had more tact and poise than most of the others it had met. It would have been curious to see how she would have fared speaking with Loki, who seemed to derive pleasure from mind games and word play.

The female, Agent Romanoff, paused in her pacing and glanced over the spirit’s also-female form, as if determining its worth or character by its outward appearance. Then she nodded and said:

“I could waste time we don’t have, demanding to know why you followed Loki, how he conscripted you into his ranks, why you chose to stay behind. But honestly, I’ve got bigger problems I need to cross off.”

Agent Romanoff held its attention with her dark green eyes, another new shade of color it had not seen on a human.

“There’s only one question I _do_ want answered at this particular moment.”

The spirit waited, knowing what it would be asked. But it did not _know_ where Loki had taken the Tesseract, or even where his underground lair was located.

“How do you free someone from the control of Loki’s sceptre?”

It blinked. That… had not been the question it was expecting.

“You assume the answer is known to it,” the spirit reflected suspiciously, its body unconsciously freezing in the way it did when it felt threatened. Had the humans somehow detected its ability to wield the golden apparatus?

The female watched it for a moment, as if unsure how to respond, her lips pressed tightly together. Finally, she responded, “Not so much an assumption as a desperate shot in the dark. I was hoping you would know something we don’t from your time with Loki.”

The anxiety in its chest slightly uncoiled, and it voiced the next logical inquiry.

“Why do you ask this question?”

The human did not respond immediately, appearing to be caught in some kind of internal struggle as she stared at the floor, her eyes moving back and forth in deliberation.

Finally, she looked up at the spirit and said, “Because we have someone in our custody who is under Loki’s influence. And I need him freed.”

Its eyebrows slightly creased with eyes narrowed as it stared back from across the room.

“One of Loki’s mind-thralls?”

“One of our agents.”

“What is the name of this agent?” it asked, but it knew. The fragments of evidence and its intuition fit the pieces into place.

“Clint Barton. And… he’s been asking for you.”

 

* * *

 

Loki’s mood swung from vicious thoughts of rupturing a hole in the aircraft he was currently occupying, to fuming in sullen silence, to gasping for air as a slow, irresistible panic began to grip his throat.

It was gone. The woman was gone. The creature he had summoned from within the orb, trapped, _freed_ because of his genius and his foresight – she had _abandoned_ him.

Loki had given the ungrateful shade a body, and she had the gall to use it to walk away from him! Him!

He had treated her fairly – had given her accommodations, protection, and had even partially mended her wounds after the careless mortals had harmed her. Loki had educated her on the dangers of the Midgardians, and had given her personal insight into Earth’s meager defenders and the folly they presented.

Loki had been nothing but generous and benevolent to the celestial being, giving her every opportunity to proclaim her loyalty to his future Kingship. If she had only done so, he would have been willing to give her anything she wanted… within reason.

No doubt her first request would have been one of freedom. Loki was not stupid – he understood how a phantom that had once traversed the stars would balk at the idea of being contained within his purview.

It was one of the aspects that attracted him to the celestial creature – she had once been truly and unconditionally free before her descent into the orb.

Loki’s words to the humans when he had first stepped foot on Midgard had rang true – freedom was life’s great lie. Every man, woman, and child on this planet was bound by unseen chains, forged by their cumbersome, sentimental bonds, constrained by their foolish belief that love was a source of strength rather than the black hole of cold disappointment that it actually represented.

There was no substance to the concept of freedom. His allies had shown him that truth. Completely. Thoroughly.

But _she_ had been different. Unencumbered by the rules and mandates of the flesh, she had been absolutely pure of essence. Loki had been almost envious of the celestial ghost’s freedom and what she represented. She lacked emotional ties that would make her vulnerable to the temptation of companionship, her very nature immune to the traitorous effects of isolation.

At least… that had been what he had believed, at the time.

It was unfathomable, inconceivable that she would reject Loki. What had caused her defiance? Spirits were not particularly brave creatures – they were generally known for their timidity and borderline cowardice. Had the treacherous humans poisoned her mind against him? They had only been held captive for a few hours. Surely that was not enough time to-

_Was her imprisonment not your fault to begin with?_

An insignificant, all-but-forgotten voice returned from the depths of his mind, incessantly annoying in its refusal to stay quashed and buried.

“Shut up,” Loki growled to no one, knowing full well it was not the captivity onboard the flying fortress that the voice was referring to.

_If you had not fallen into the void, if you had not attempted to win the All-Father’s approval with a scheme even_ you _knew was doomed from the start-_

“Shut… up…” he hissed through his teeth, his breath coming in staggered, uneven gasps.

_If you had ceased your childish notions of proving your worth by imitating and emulating Thor-_

“I am superior to Thor! SHUT! _UP!_ ”

The madness of his voice echoed throughout the small space, and the steady thrum of the aircraft’s multiple engines was the only response. Even his mind-slave pilot did not react to his outburst.

Loki panted harshly, his hands curled into claw-like appendages as he tried to control their trembling, which was a failed endeavor. The strain of his recent efforts were taking too much of a toll on his mind and body when they should not have been.

His confidence had been shaken ever since his display of dominance in the Germanic city. Loki’s multiple illusions – normally a simple cast and a limited drain on his magic – had barely remained cohesive, flickering in response to his tenuous hold.

This had become a problem of late, especially after his return from the blackest reaches of space where Thanos’ hidden realm resided. Loki had found he had difficulty grasping and wielding his more complicated spells with any sort of stability. His ability to influence and cast illusions, the simplest and least draining of his magics, remained the most reliable – but even those spells had their costs.

Loki had, unsurprisingly, lied to Trinity when he had appeared in her cell. There had been nothing “easy” about projecting his mind from his body, even at that short distance. The energy called forth to allow them to watch the proceedings aboard the flying fortress had drained him more than he had predicted, leaving him unnervingly vulnerable in the hands of the humans and forcing him to call upon the aid of his creation to help free him from his prison.

If the mortals had chosen to extract information from Loki using torture, he would have been able to resist (of course), but it would have been impossible to shield his body from the pain that would come.

And it greatly irked him that the mortals had believed they had outsmarted the god – that their scarlet-haired harlot had gleaned any sort of valuable information from his words of malice.

They believed Loki had tipped his hand, when in actuality, they had revealed their criminal ignorance. When he had referred to the monster they had brought forth, they had believed he had spoken of Banner.

_Banner!_ Yes, the hulking beast was a sight to behold when he fully unleashed his primal fury, but he was nothing compared to the shadow that would soon be cast over this world. Nothing compared to the darkness that would consume the rest of the Nine Realms thereafter.

The Midgardians had no inkling of what was to come, though in that regard, the Realm Eternal was just as ignorant and would fall just as easily.

But not by _his_ hand. That pleasure was reserved for one who would make Loki appear as a merciful, saintly ruler in comparison.

There were none who contained the knowledge that Loki held within his grasp. None more worthy than he to rule over Midgard. Loki was born to rule. He was born to be a _king_. He needed the aid of none, let alone a wisp that was foolish enough to try to save him from-

No. That had never happened. He was misremembering what had occurred after his fall into the abyss, something he was told would happen after the ordeal he had experienced in that desolate place.

Loki had been shown the vast expanse of the universe, and he had seen his rightful place within it, lording over Midgard. His allies had been strict, but they had known and recognized his value – something which was never afforded him on Asgard. It was not his fault a little sprite had annoyed the Other, trapping it in the eye of the sceptre.

None of the blame rested on his shoulders.

_Then how did you escape the void?_

Loki did not react to the voice again. He simply crushed it into the back of his skull, driving it into dust until it was buried deeply once more. He took a steadying breath and smoothed back his untamed hair, wondering how the locks had become so awry.

Ah, yes. Loki remembered. He had been decimated by a Destroyer blast the humans had weaponized for their own designs. Tricky, greedy little creatures.

Well, their shrewdness would be tested within the day if his plans came to fruition. Even their mean, petty intellect would not spare them from his vast army of Chitauri marauders. When they finally descended through the portal of his making, _then_ the humans would see just how clever they truly were.

And his creation would see how greatly she had sinned against him. And when she did, Loki would make her suffer for daring to defy her god.


	16. Alleviate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spirit is trapped in a tug-of-war between forces it cannot contend with.

The spirit stared down at the human strapped to the semi-reclined medical bed, his azure eyes bloodshot, his glistening muscles pulling at the restraints which bound him by the wrists and ankles.

“My turn to be rescued, huh?” Barton’s strained smile faltered as he saw the graceful figure of the female agent follow the spirit into the room designated as Infirmary 31-F on the door.

“That’s the plan,” she said, crossing her arms as she looked down at her fellow agent. Barton stared back with an unfriendly scowl, the sweat-shined skin lending a sickly aspect to his features.

The spirit had been understandably cautious when Barton-Hawk was revealed to be _Agent_ Clint Barton. But when the Romanoff human had asked for its help in freeing Barton from Loki’s compulsion, it had immediately agreed to examine him, on one condition. The female agent had consented with no argument, leading it to believe she had been sincere when she had claimed need of Barton’s mind released.

The spirit now stood next to the female agent as she, too, stared down at the sweaty, unwell human.

“What do you think?” she asked, voicing the spirit’s silent trepidation.

“It is not sure,” it replied simply and honestly. But there was nothing to do but make the attempt at studying the human and determining if the spirit could help liberate his mind. It reached a pale hand forward, thin fingers reaching towards Agent Barton’s head.

The male human gave an anxious smile and asked, “What are you doing, kid? You should be helping me out of these restraints.”

“Please remain motionless.” It gingerly touched his skin with its fingertips, following with the rest of its palm as it made contact with his forehead.

Barton suddenly jerked forward, straining against his bindings as he gave a baleful leer.

“I’m going to break free, Trinity. And when I do, I’m going wrap my hands around your slender little neck and _snap you in two_.”

The spirit flinched away from him, the intimately familiar echoes of Loki’s madness displayed on the face of his mind-thrall, causing its heart to race with unmistakable fear. But the female agent was on him instantly, placing her splayed hand against his chest as she slammed him back against the gurney.

“I’ve got him. Do it!” Romanoff snapped tersely, holding down her enthralled companion as she focused her full attention on the human.

“Oh, don’t worry Nat – I haven’t forgotten about you. I’m going to use your lovely collarbone to whet my knife, and then I’ll thrust it into your- _Aaah!_ ”

Barton snarled in frustration as Agent Romanoff jammed a rolled cloth into his mouth.

“You know I love dirty talk as much as the next girl, Clint, but you’re only going to say something regretful.” Turning her head back to the spirit, her emerald eyes flashing, she said, “Either help or back off – he’s going to hurt himself like this.” Her face was sweaty and her expression strained as she attempted to keep an even tone of voice.

The spirit apprehensively moved to reconnect with Barton’s forehead, his azure eyes burning in their hollowed sockets as he glared with luminous hatred. Doing its best to ignore his growls of anger, it closed its eyes and attempted to suppress its vibrating nerves and shaking muscles, concentrating on the sensation of Barton’s damp brow against its palm. His skin felt slick and much too warm to the touch.

Taking a deep breath, it strived to calm its own mind as it mentally reached forward, searching for anything recognizable, a familiar sensation it could grab onto. It had somehow connected with the unique power of the mind-jewel, and it hoped its strange affinity for the cosmic object could aid it now in freeing Barton from its thrall.

It did not take long to locate. The spirit had suspected, rightly so, that it would be able to find the residual energy left behind by the artifact. All processes needed energy to operate, and the mind-jewel used its limitless energy to control and bend the minds of others. That force still resided in the brain of the human, allowing it to influence his behavior even though the sceptre was far from hand.

Tentatively reaching forward, it mentally pinpointed and isolated the unique signature that could only belong to the alluring power of the mind-jewel.

It was unsure of what it should do next. Attempt to use the residual energy to revert Barton’s mind to a previous state? That seemed conclusively dangerous, but it could not simply disperse the remnants of power. It had to be absorbed or transported, pulled from Barton’s consciousness while leaving him intact.

 There was only one place for the energy to go, and despite the danger this option represented, it would not leave the human within Loki’s control – especially now that his rage at the spirit’s departure would cause him to become even more unpredictable.

The spirit braced itself as it began to absorb the energy, able to visualize the vibrant, yellow force as it was engulfed into its body via the palm of its hand – just as it had done with the thrumming shaft of the sceptre.

Barton’s reaction was immediate and visceral as he arched his back, the muscles in his neck straining as his screams were muffled by the fabric in his mouth. The shackles around his wrists and ankles creaked alarmingly, pulled taut as he attempted to writhe and lash out. It did not need to open its eyes to see his struggles – its mind could actually perceive the texture of his skull and brain matter as the energy of the mind-jewel flowed through the biological material.

It did not falter or release its hold due in part to the steady hand Romanoff held against his chest. The spirit continued to siphon the power from his mind, as if it was draining potent venom from a deep wound. It took as much care as it could, attempting to cause the least amount of damage possible, but the mind-jewel had already begun to harm Barton from the evidence across his cerebrum.

After one agonizingly long moment, the energy began to taper off as the spirit fully absorbed the force into its own physical vessel. The luscious, sensual energy trailed up its arm and throughout its body, filling it with satisfying vitality and tantalizing strength.

It opened its eyes and pulled back its hand, and the elated feeling of power and life-sustaining energy faded as it looked into the exhausted face of the human it had originally labeled as Barton-Hawk. His eyes were clear, and it could see his irises for the first time – a gentle grey-blue instead of a harsh, crystallized hue.

Out of the corner of its eye, it saw the female agent staring at the spirit with an expression of oddness, as if she was startled by what she had just witnessed. But she made no comment, and turned her attention to her freed companion, giving him a shaky smile, the first show of strong emotion she had displayed thus far.

“I’m… oh God, Natasha… I’m so sorry,” the agent said, horror written clearly on his face after Agent Romanoff had removed the cloth from his mouth, which the female had done quickly, able to see he was free of influence without having to be informed.

“Apologizing for something you didn’t do? That’s a new one,” she said, her tone attempting to be light as she continued to smile at him gently. “You worried me for a second. _That_ you can apologize for.”

“You know me, I like to live on the edge,” he responded, his voice hoarse and raw from his agonized screams. Despite this, he tried to give his female companion a reassuring smile.

“That’s what concerns me,” Romanoff replied, her green eyes never leaving his blue ones. The spirit shifted uncomfortably. It had the distinct feeling it was listening to a conversation not meant for it to partake in.

The movement attracted Barton’s attention, and his eyebrows creased in confusion.

“Trinity?”

“Yes,” it confirmed, curious to know if Barton suffered from some type of memory loss from the effects of the mind-jewel.

“How… how are you here? How am _I_ here? What happened?”

“Frost surrendered herself to SHIELD. And _you_ tried to take me on by hand-to-hand combat,” Agent Romanoff replied, and Barton responded by loudly groaning.

“I did? Shit.”

“Yep. And I hit you really hard on the head. Hoped you would level out after that, but… you didn’t.” Agent Romanoff glanced sideways to where the spirit still stood, her expression unreadable. “We had to resort to more unconventional methods.”

“Well, whatever you did, it worked. My head feels clear for the first time in days,” Barton quipped as Romanoff began to unbind his shackles. “Though all things considered, my brain wasn’t the most valuable commodity that Asgardian asshole had in his arsenal.” His tone of voice attempted levity, but his breath still came in too quickly, and his skin was still pale and reflective with sweat.

“Self-deprecation? Must still be under a spell,” Romanoff said, giving him a soft smile with a look that indicated to the spirit that she cared for him greatly – perhaps more deeply than what was required between two allies.

Barton’s lips twitched as he gazed up at his female counterpart, and the spirit was surprised how quickly he was recovering from the traumatic effect of having his mind not be his own. Or perhaps he was dealing with the pain by covering it with humor. Humans, the ones it had observed at least, seemed to have a penchant for this defensive behavior.

The agent looked back to the spirit, his face suddenly solemn.

“In all seriousness, it’s good you got away from that sociopath, kid.”

Its expression stayed neutral at his words, but a dull ache resided in its chest, unable to forget the way the Jotun-Asgardian had looked at their separation. Rather than respond to his assertion about Loki, the spirit drew his attention elsewhere.

“It believes there are some small traces of damage to the outer layer of the cerebral cortex, but it does not believe this to be permanent.”

“Didn’t know you were a brain surgeon,” the human responded lightly, though his eyes flickered up to the female agent. “How did you manage to get him out?”

“You’d have to ask her,” Romanoff replied, the prior playfulness now completely gone from her voice as she glanced at the spirit.

Instead of answering the inquiry, which it knew would only work for a limited amount of time, it asked the male agent, “Do you remember… it?”

Agent Barton nodded and a dark shadow seemed to pass over his already-clouded face.

“Yeah. I remember everything, mostly.”

The spirit felt an unavoidable vein of guilt trace through its mind, even though it had done nothing to cause the haunted look on his face.

“Have you ever had someone take your brain and play?” Barton asked as Agent Romanoff poured him a glass of water. “Pull you out and stuff something else in? Do you know… what it’s like to be unmade?”

“You know that I do,” Romanoff responded, her eyes softening as she stared at the other agent. The expression on her face was disquieted. The spirit wondered what she had experienced that would make her feel the irresistible control of another.

The female sat on a chair pulled up next to the gurney, and they seemed to have both forgotten it for the moment.

“Natasha… How many agents did I-”

“Don’t,” Romanoff immediately responded, looking straight into Barton’s face. “Don’t do that to yourself, Clint. This is Loki.”

At the mention of his name, the spirit could not help but feel that odd pressure in its chest once more.

“This is monsters and magic, and nothing we were ever trained for.”

“Loki. He get away?”

“Yeah. I don’t suppose you know where?”

“Didn’t need to know. Didn’t ask.” He glimpsed up at the spirit, an eyebrow raised, and it stared back at him unresponsively.

“He tell you where he was going?” Barton asked, sitting up straighter as he winced from the movement.

“No,” it responded, though it quickly averted its eyes.

“Trin,” he replied, his tone indicating that he did not believe the spirit’s evasive response. The spirit glanced up at him, confused by the shortening of its name, while Agent Romanoff watched the two of them silently.

“It does not know where Loki is located. It only knows he was going to reunite with Dr. Selvig, who is in possession of the artifact you seek.”

Romanoff slowly got to her feet, walking towards the door with a thoughtful expression, her hands resting on her hips.

“He’s going to make his play soon, then.” He took the cup of water from the table, though he gripped it tightly in his hands rather than drink its contents. “Today.”

“We’ve got to stop him,” Romanoff responded from near the infirmary door.

“Yeah? Who’s ‘we’?” he asked gruffly after taking a gulp of water.

“I don’t know. Whoever’s left.”

“Well... if I put an arrow through Loki’s eye socket, I’d sleep better, I suppose.”

“May it use your restroom facility?” it asked abruptly.

Agent Barton, seemingly oblivious to its sudden discomfort, nodded toward a doorway leading into a small room.

“Be my guest.”

Agent Romanoff, however, watched it closely as it went into the bathroom and shut the door. The spirit breathed with relief as it was separated from the two humans by a solid barrier, its back braced against the cold door.

It could understand Barton’s anger, but it did not want him to glimpse any of its underlying emotions regarding the one who had enslaved him. It rationally understood that Barton could not know what the Jotun-Asgardian had been through to reach this point of unravelling and cruelty.

It understood, but it did not have to agree with the human nor assist him in harming Loki. The spirit still wished to save its Jotun-Asgardian, which did not bode well for what it planned to do next.

_It’s the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life’s joy in a mad scramble for power... for identity._

The spirit wondered if Loki had understood the hypocrisy of his words in the human city of Stuttgart, about his own desperation to seize control. Most likely he did not consider them to be such, as his madness was too deeply ingrained for him to see it. Or perhaps he believed his station to be so far above the humans that the same parameters did not apply to him.

But the spirit was beginning to understand why he craved such power – why its allure could be so irresistible. Understanding had been out of its grasp until it had held the golden apparatus in its hands – it had felt the tinge of joy and fear at the prospect of having such an unstoppable tool. It could not begin to imagine the things it could accomplish with such a wide array of powers at its command.

And that was precisely the problem. It had a limited imagination, as it had little experience in the realms of the living. It did not know what the purpose of having such power was, or how to control it in a way that was appropriate.

It had just been brought into existence a few solar days prior – how was it to differentiate between correct and incorrect actions? Was there a moral baseline that sentient beings were supposed to obey, and did it have certain responsibilities if it wished to wield such power?

Unable to answer these questions, it had returned the golden apparatus to Loki, fearful of what would happen with the weapon in its grasp. It had decided it did not have the wisdom or the knowledge to wield such a dangerous tool. The golden apparatus might even be more hazardous in the possession of the spirit – both because it did not possess a foundation on which to make moral decisions, and because it was able to bend the jewel to its whims with little effort.

The spirit had rejected that responsibility, choosing instead to seek out the humans for their aid. To plead on Loki’s behalf and attempt to convince them to spare his life when the inevitable clash between the two forces took place.

Would the Jotun-Asgardian ever forgive the spirit for what he no doubt saw as a broken oath to remain at his side? It had seen no other option. If it wanted to shield Loki from the dark fate he was so desperately trying to create, then it would have to join with beings stronger than itself in order to accomplish its goals.

What Loki would see as an act of betrayal, the spirit saw as a possibility for salvation. The Jotun-Asgardian was not only its charge to protect, but also its burden to bear. Coulson of SHIELD had been wrong in that regard.

The spirit had just completed this thought when it heard a loud voice from the other side of the door, baritone and familiar. Familiar in a way that made its stomach clench in anxiety.

“Go where?” Romanoff was asking as it pulled open the door, coming to a halt as its eyes met a stern, steely-blue gaze.

“I’ll tell you on the… What is _she_ doing here?” the Captain demanded while looking between the two agents.

“ _She_ pulled a Norse god out of my brain. Is there a problem?” Barton asked, pointedly shifting his tone of voice.

“That depends,” he responded, glaring out of the side of his eye at the spirit as it walked towards the center of the room but remained a safe distance away from the shield-warrior. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“You have located Loki,” it instead remarked. Not a question.

The shield-warrior sighed, now staring it fully in the face.

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Actually… it is,” Romanoff said, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Excuse me?” he questioned strongly, his eyebrows rising in a clear sign of disbelief with her words.

“We struck a deal. She would help free Barton, and we would take her with us if we found the Asgardian.”

The Captain stared at the agent as if he questioned the soundness of her mind. Even Barton was peering at her as if she were speaking in an unrecognizable language.

“I was exploring all of our options,” the female agent unapologetically remarked, meeting their gazes evenly.

“You still didn’t answer my question, Frost. How did you manage to break Barton free of Loki’s mind control?” the Captain asked, turning his attention again to the spirit. It eyed him in return – curious as to why he used the second name given to it by Loki. This seemed to indicate formality, or possible hostility, given the nature of his tone.

It did not answer his inquiry, even after the other two humans trained their wary gazes on its form. They waited in the tense silence until Barton finally spoke.

“I may be able to answer that for you.”

“How?” the female agent inquired, and the spirit made immediate eye contact with the male agent who had once been a mind-thrall. The gentleness of his voice did little to comfort it from his words.

“Look, I’m grateful for what you did, Trinity. Truly and deeply. I can’t put it into words how thankful I am. But… I have to tell them you’re not…”

It continued to silently plead for his discretion regarding what he knew about the spirit’s true nature. Its message was either missed or ignored.

“…not human.”

“What?” Romanoff and the Captain asked at the same time, one voice even and calm while the other was sharp and suspicious.

It remained silent, apprehension tightening its throat as it watched the humans closely for their reactions.

“Loki, he… I don’t know how to explain it. He created her with the Cube and sceptre using the portal device that Dr. Selvig is building. Said she was some kind of celestial spirit slash dragon-thing trapped by something called the Other. It was some very weird shit and way above my pay-grade.”

All three of the humans stared at it with various expressions, none of them encouraging.

“It means you no harm, and… our goals are aligned,” it replied, its expression blank as it waited for their response. From what it had learned about the humans, they were not the most tolerant and welcoming peoples when it came to those who did not fit a specified criterion of “normalcy”.

But it did not want them to see its hesitation. The next few minutes were crucial, and it needed to exude as much trustworthiness as it could muster.

“And what goals would those be?” the shield-warrior asked, his tone indicating skepticism and distrust while his tense body language confirmed the negative emotions.

“To prevent Loki from causing further harm. Both to himself and the people of your world.”

“Why do you care what happens to him?” Agent Barton asked, his eyebrows drawn together with suspicion. “He kept you as his prisoner. Not to mention his weird, creepy fixation on you.”

The spirit did not understand the meaning of Barton’s words. Loki had been focused on it in a particular manner, to a certain extent, but it had not been the only one who had received the intimidating attentions of the Jotun-Asgardian.

It searched their faces, indecisive on how much information it should reveal. If it could not convince them it was in their best interest to allow it to accompany them, it would be forced to remain imprisoned while Loki either succeeded with his designs for war, or he was defeated and possibly killed at the hands of these powerful warriors.

But if the spirit revealed it had rescued the Jotun-Asgardian from the void, it may not gain the trust of the humans, which would still result in its imprisonment while Loki was left to face the consequences of his twisted mind. Alone.

“It… witnessed Loki being tortured by this Other you mentioned. It believes he may have been coerced or manipulated into attacking your people. He has been… changed. Warped. He is a victim in this,” it said earnestly when its explanations were met with silence. None of the warriors appeared to believe a word it had uttered.

“Did you see anything to indicate Loki was not in control of his actions?” Agent Romanoff asked her counterpart, her green eyes searching his face while she waited for his response.

“Not that I could see. But, it was weird… he didn’t seem to know a whole lot about Earth, or modern humans in general. Most of his initial intel was outdated by a few hundred years.” Barton stared back at his female companion, his jaw unusually tightened while speaking of the being who had enslaved him. “It was as if he hadn’t prepared, at all, to conquer us – like he was planning to rely only on his alien armada,” Agent Barton offered, slightly shrugging his shoulders as he attempted to downplay his obvious discomfort when discussing the Jotun-Asgardian.

“That does sound out of character for a meticulous psychopath like Loki,” Romanoff replied, her eyebrows furrowing in thought. “His type needs to be in control, always one step ahead and making sure everyone knows it.”

“He sure seems to be a step ahead of us ever since he stole the Tesseract,” the Captain said unhappily.

“Loki relied on his… on the people he had taken, on Dr. Selvig and me. A lot. Especially me.” Agent Barton stared blankly between Romanoff and the Captain, but his voice remained steady, having a flat quality that matched the expression in his eyes. “I was either instructing his mercenaries on how to secure his underground compound, helping him plan the heist in Germany, keeping Trinity under guard, or giving him details on every classified piece of information regarding the Avengers Initiative.”

“Barton,” Romanoff said, gently but firmly. Curiously, she did not use his first name and the softer tone as she had before, when the agent had begun to blame himself for his actions under Loki’s compulsion.

“You didn’t have a choice. Trust me. Anything that involves the Cube is greatly outside of your control,” the shield-warrior added, his blue eyes also curiously softening as he looked at the SHIELD agent.

“Yeah... I learned that the hard way. Several times.” Barton glanced at the spirit, giving it the impression what he was speaking of involved it in some way. His next words confirmed this. “Loki even forced me to provide him with a list of movies to show Trinity with the goal of making her hate people.”

It regarded him with curiosity – it knew Loki had shown the spirit the documentaries in order to manipulate and twist its opinions, but it had not known Barton had been involuntarily pulled into participating.

“I’m really sorry for being a part of Loki’s brainwashing and propaganda machine. I’m sorry for… a lot of things I said to you.”

The spirit blinked in confusion. Barton had not been in control of any of his actions or speeches. Why did he apologize for them?

“The documentaries were false?” it asked, a small flicker of hope lighting inside of its chest, only to be extinguished at the agent’s next words.

“No, they were…. accurate, as far as I can tell. The SHIELD one was especially interesting to watch – I have no idea how the filmmaker got his hands on such restricted information. I remember Fury had a shit-fit when he first got wind of it and had it immediately suppressed. I think the poor sucker in charge of the film got laughed out of the media sector for good.”

The smile which had begun to form on Barton’s face began to fade as he noticed its closed-off expression and stiff body posture.

“Not what you wanted to hear, I know. But I promise you, we’re not all bad. Well… most of us.”

“Wait. Can we go back to the part where Loki- what, created some kind of golem?”

“A what now?” Barton asked.

“A magical construct built with inanimate matter and powered by a living soul,” Agent Romanoff answered immediately, who was rewarded with a side-eyed glance from her fellow agent.

The spirit’s own focus was pulled inward as it thought on her words. Was it what the female warrior had described? A golem?

“It is not composed of inanimate material – it is conclusively organic.”

“But not human,” the shield-warrior pointed out.

“Is that really the most pressing issue right now?” Agent Romanoff remarked sharply, causing the spirit to glance at her in surprise for coming to its defense. “Thor’s an alien as well, in case you forgot. We can’t really afford to be picky with where our help is coming from.”

“And how is she going to help, exactly?” he countered sternly. “We don’t have time for a town hall meeting about this. Loki is hell-bent on opening that portal, and if she’s not going to be useful, then she’s only going to be a liability.”

The spirit could not help but begin to feel its chest tighten at his phrasing. It was too reminiscent of Loki’s words, of Barton’s words while under his enslavement.

Agent Barton must have realized this, because he said, “Rogers. She’s been through hell. She may not have been under a spell, but she was under Loki’s boot heel as completely as I was. If she wants to be there for closure, or revenge, or whatever – I say let her.”

The spirit strongly disagreed with the agent’s characterization of Loki’s actions and how it would respond to them, but it remained silent, knowing his argument was furthering its chances of obtaining its goals.

“And what do you say?” the shield-warrior asked the red-haired female, adding, “That she should come with us?”

“Absolutely not.”

The spirit stared at her, its confusion reflected on the Captain’s face.

“But you just said-“

“Maybe she can help, maybe not. Personally, I don’t want her within fifty feet of the Asgardian.”

“Then why did you advocate for taking her along?” the shield-warrior asked, once again expressing the questions the spirit was attempting to comprehend.

“I said I would take her, not that we _should_ take her. I was also arguing against your rationale for not accepting her help – mainly because she isn’t human.”

“Seriously Steve, it’s 2012. That anti-alien attitude is so misinformed and outdated,” Barton added with a serious expression, though his eyes seemed to hold playfulness as he stared at the flustered warrior.

“A deal was made,” the spirit said to the female, finally finding its voice as the three humans turned at the sound of its words.

Its tone sounded even and unemotional to its own ears, but Romanoff perceived much more than what the spirit presented, because her expression appeared quite different from the usual ones she displayed.

“Some promises aren’t worth keeping, Frost. Especially if breaking them means saving a life.”

The spirit could only stare at the female agent, unable to process her words. What life would be saved if it remained behind? A life was more likely to be extinguished if it did _not_ accompany the warriors.

Romanoff turned her face towards the shield-warrior when it did not reply, and said, “Make the call, Rogers.”

“Me?” the blue-clad human asked with raised eyebrows.

“Like you said, no time for a town hall meeting. You’re the one in charge, so make the decision you feel is best for the mission.”

“I didn’t realize Fury had appointed me for anything more than his mascot,” the human replied, his large arms crossed across his chest.

“Well then, congratulations Steve Rogers. You were designated as the unofficial leader under the Avengers docket by the Director himself. With Earth about to be invaded, I think we can make it official,” Barton remarked with a small grin as he regarded the human across from him.

The shield-warrior looked as if he were caught between annoyance and exasperation, and he settled for a look of slight embarrassment as he ran a gloved hand through his yellow hair.

“Fine. But this is a stopgap measure, not a permanent solution,” he reiterated to the two agents who nodded their assent, though the glance that passed between them indicated something else entirely. The human, Steve Rogers, missed the look as he fixed his gaze on the form of the spirit.

“Final decision may rest with me, but I still want input from the two of you. Romanoff, why did you say you didn’t want Frost within fifty feet of Loki?”

Attempting to hide its growing discomfort, it remained perfectly still as it waited for the female’s response, knowing she would not portray the Jotun-Asgardian in a positive manner. It was correct.

“Loki’s incredibly dangerous, more than we can ever understand. And his attention seems focused on Frost in an obsessive, disturbing way. There is a high probability he will target and isolate her – either to reclaim her or take her out of the equation altogether. I’d rather not take the risk, especially when my first assessment tells me the threats presented outweigh whatever assistance she can bring.”

The spirit began to feel strangely uncomfortable, and it had the odd urge to exit the conversation and find a small space in which to curl its physical form into the most compact shape possible.

The humans believed Loki to be a source of threat to it. Romanoff had been speaking of the spirit when she mentioned a life to be saved, it realized now. But what would be the value of that? What purpose would be served in keeping it here, rather than using it as leverage against the Jotun-Asgardian?

Why would the humans concern themselves with its wellbeing? It was illogical, incomprehensible, contradictory-

“Sorry Nat, I gotta go against you on this. She did _something_ to my head, even if she won’t tell us what, and it was pretty damn effective at screwing with Loki’s shit already. I think she’s plenty helpful,” Barton added, giving the spirit a warm smile. It returned the gesture with an expression it hoped conveyed gratitude.

Unfortunately, the agent decided to continue speaking.

“Not to mention showing up with Trinity in tow will _really_ freak him out. You should have seen him when-”

“It can collapse the portal.”

It interrupted Barton before he could speak of Loki’s actions in the hidden lair, either of his treatment of the spirit, or the humans he had killed as a result of its attempted escape.

The distraction worked. The two males stared at it, one with open disbelief, the other with his eyebrows creased in suspicion. Only Romanoff remained expressionless, and it hoped she did not sense the spirit’s desperate ploy.

“What?” Barton demanded sharply, his tone of voice riddled with incredulity.

“It can collapse the portal,” it repeated, assuming he had misheard. Unfortunately, the clarification did not seem to assist him in understanding its words any more clearly. He continued to stare, his mouth slightly open.

“And what makes you think you can accomplish that?” the Captain asked, fixing his bright eyes on the spirit as he determined its fate.

It responded with as much confidence as it could gather – its eyes boring into theirs to convey its solemnity.

“Because it knows how the original portal was destroyed.”


	17. Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no turning back from the precipice.

Loki brooded in sullen silence, meticulously going through his plan repeatedly. There were no leaks he could identify, no unquantifiable variances save one.

Most likely, SHIELD would keep that unknown variable locked in a cell, ignorant to her potential and abilities with the sceptre. He knew the Director was a clever mortal, but he also knew the man was wary and suspicious, and would view any aid offered by Loki’s creation as a potential snake waiting to bite an outstretched hand of cooperation.

Loki believed she would be helpless enough, trapped on the floating fortress. Far from him and the Tesseract, she could do no harm. Once the humans were crushed by his marauders, he would rip to pieces what was left of SHIELD and retrieve what was his. He was far from done with Trinity – she was deluded if she believed otherwise.

Speaking of the celestial cube, it was secured in a case next to the mortal scientist, ready to seek its new home in the holdings of the completed portal device. The enslaved pilot had stopped at the prearranged meet with Dr. Selvig’s van, and Loki had levitated the massive machine into the aircraft. He had been briefly worried that his lessened magic would not be able to lift the complicated machine, but he had held his concentration well enough. Too much hung in the balance for his magic to fail him now.

And now they were descending towards New York City – the island known as Manhattan specifically.

As the aircraft neared the city, Loki heard voices begin to inquire as to the purpose and trajectory of the unknown aircraft, causing a sly grin to be coaxed from his lips. Holding the sceptre in his hand and focusing his will, he expanded his reach outwards, plying into the minds of all who were concerned with the aircraft and its destination.

Loki touched the minds of the air control personnel in contact with the Quinjet, making it so the aircraft would be ignored. They could still see the aircraft on their instruments, but they would think nothing of it and would continue on as if the appearance of the aircraft was perfectly in line with their expectations. No alarms would be raised, and Fury’s pets would be too late to stop him.

It was incredibly exhausting. The sceptre was a daunting weapon with an untapped well of energy, but the strain it put on his own mind to shape the perceptions of a handful of mortals was shamefully tiresome.

As they approached the flat top of the tower, Loki realized he had miscalculated the size of the area. It was too miniscule to fit the mortal aircraft, and the pilot began to descend toward the landing platform built into the side of Stark’s shrine of overcompensation.

“No!” Loki snapped impatiently, rising upwards and bracing his feet evenly against the flooring to maintain his balance as the pilot halted the descent. “Hold near the edge – I will guide the machine down.” It _had_ to be placed on the highest point of the structure. There was no other option.

The mind-slave pressed several buttons, and the ramp began to lower towards the rooftop. The rushing air tousled Loki’s curved, black locks in the wind, also buffeting Dr. Selvig as he remained silent – the mortal looking particularly ill from the long-term effects of the orb’s dominance.

Reaching down into his well of unreliable magical potential, Loki pointed his palm at the bronze and silver machine. Concentrating with all of his might, he levitated the machine from the aircraft, down the ramp, over the two feet of empty air, and gingerly placed it near the edge of the rooftop. Loki ignored the cold sweat on his brow and the way his fingers trembled.

“Your turn, doctor,” Loki mocked, panting but still able to smirk at the frazzled mortal.

The man stood hesitantly and eyed the gap between the rooftop and the aircraft. He also staggered as rose to his feet, and Loki made a noise of irritation. The man was growing weak, and as entertaining as it would be to watch the mortal fall to the concrete below, he still required his expertise until his dark legion of destruction made planetfall.

Curling his lip in annoyance, Loki pointed his hand at the mortal’s chest and lifted him up, flicking his hand to toss him onto the rooftop. The man tumbled to his knees, and the dark god grinned wickedly at the man’s clumsy, fragile form.

Picking up the white metal case, he levitated himself, sceptre in hand, onto the gravel-filled rooftop, unable to hide his growing weakness as he stumbled upon landing. Dr. Selvig had managed to pull himself to his feet, and the air still buffeted them even after the Quinjet departed.

Loki wondered with an off-hand curiosity what would become of his mind-slave now that he had no instructions for him. Would he simply wander the skies of Midgard, eventually falling from the air once his vessel ran out of fuel?

Pushing the deliciously macabre thoughts from his mind, he pushed the case into Dr. Selvig’s arms, his face no longer mirthful but impatient with anticipation.

“I trust you know what to do with this,” he inquired frostily.

“Oh yes, sir. I’ll begin to power the device, but… it will take a few minutes. Once the initiation is started, it can’t be interrupted.”

With a sly grin that erased all signs of exhaustion and painted his features with manic glee, Loki stated, “Do not concern yourself with that, mortal. Leave it to me.”

 

* * *

 

“Try this on.”

Agent Romanoff had returned only a few moments after she had departed, given the command by the Captain after the spirit’s revelation. She had volunteered to find the more conspicuous garments the spirit, as she claimed to have more experience estimating the correct dimensions of its form simply by observing. None of her SHIELD counterparts had suspected the agent of either duplicity or of facilitating the breakout of a captive, and she left the spirit to adorn the garments she had acquired.

The suit was sleek and black, and it fit its feminine form like a second skin. The spirit felt oddly self-conscious as it moved in the tight garment.

After it had pulled on the black boots, which helped it not feel so exposed and vulnerable, it positioned itself in front of the reflection within the bodily waste room in order to examine its visage. It still did not perceive itself as being human, nor did it truly feel it possessed a specific gender, but it was amazed to observe how different it looked wearing the SHIELD garments.

The silhouette of its physical form was perfectly outlined in the combat suit, and it wondered how having such a garment would protect it from conflict in the coming battle. It did not look impressive in a way that was intimidating and threatening, but its form did appear strangely pleasing to its own now-human perceptions.

What would the Jotun-Asgardian think if he could see it now, clothed in the wrappings of his enemies? It brushed the mental scenario aside as it failed to suppress the shudder that ran through its body.

The spirit pulled its long black hair from the opening of the suit, made sure all of its various fastenings were correctly positioned, and opened the door to step into the hallway where the humans were waiting. They had already gathered their battle weapons and gear, such as the Captain’s shield, Barton’s stringed weapon, and Romanoff’s various firearms and knives hidden throughout her suit.

The shield-warrior raised both of his eyebrows as he observed its new state of dress. Agent Barton gave a smirk that would have fit just as easily on Loki’s face, and Agent Romanoff nodded in approval.

“Not bad. Black looks good on you.”

“Black looks good on _everyone_ ,” Barton remarked sarcastically, winking his eye at the spirit while the Captain sighed heavily.

“Let’s get moving before the Director wonders why we’re commandeering one of SHIELD’s prisoners,” the Captain said in a serious tone.

“Not everyone can pull off a catsuit. She has the _femme fatale_ image down perfect,” Agent Romanoff continued as she walked beside Barton, both of whom walked behind the Captain. The spirit walked slightly behind the two agents, trying not to appear conspicuous to the nearby humans who were not privy to their deviation.

“There’s more to being a spy than just looking pretty,” came Barton’s reply.

“Fury has kept you around, hasn’t he?”

“You really think I’m pretty?” he asked, blinking his eyelashes at her.

“I am never sharing my interrogation tactics with you ever again.”

The spirit slowly came to the realization that the distracting banter was not entirely without a purpose. The two agents seemed to have an incredibly strong bond, and the spirit wondered if it had been difficult for them to be apart. For one of them to be in danger, and the other unable to assist them. To feel helpless as the other committed harmful acts out of his control – knowing he could not be saved from himself.

It could relate to the sentiment.

“So, explain how the portal collapsed the first time. Loki never did figure it out, as far as I could tell. It was actually kind of weird… he didn’t seem that upset about it when he initially crossed over,” Agent Barton said quizzically, looking over his shoulder at the black-clad spirit who was attempting not to fidget in its skin-tight garments.

This presented it with a dilemma. How could it simultaneously convey the truth while remaining vague enough so that the assassin would not realize it knew the intimate details of the collapse because it had _caused_ the collapse? Even though the humans were allowing it to augment their team in order to halt Loki’s end goal, it did not wish to reveal the extent of its abilities – especially when these abilities were still unknown and unexplainable.

“Too much energy was introduced to the formation of the portal, overloading its integrity and causing it to collapse within itself.” It was not a lie, exactly.

“Did the sceptre cause the portal to open? That was Fury’s belief, that the orb is a product of the Tesseract. Maybe the sceptre can also close any portals Loki manages to open,” Agent Romanoff added, and the spirit said nothing. It was skeptical as to how useful the sceptre would be in closing a portal, as the mind-jewel was only effective in controlling and manipulating the thoughts of living beings.

No, most likely, the Tesseract had been activated by something else – by the humans themselves if Loki’s claims were true. The Tesseract and mind-jewel seemed connected, this much was true, but one did not seem to command the powers of the other.

But it was not going to share its thoughts with the humans. It did not enjoy hiding information from them, but it did not know them well enough to truly trust their intentions.

“There’s our ride,” the Captain said, pointing across the expansive hangar they had just entered, his gloved finger indicating a stationary Quinjet. The spirit kept its eyes forward and tried to emulate the confidence and determination of its temporary companions as they strode purposefully across the bay, struggling to keep pace with the capable humans.

As they ascended the ramp of the aircraft, a human stood from the cockpit, looking understandably confused.

“Hey, you guys aren’t authorized to be in here. And… isn’t that the detainee from-“

“Son, just don’t,” the Captain interrupted, his tone brokering no argument.

The human, clearly seeing that he was not in control of the situation, nervously moved aside and let the group pass as he wiped sweat from his brow. The Captain gave the male a final look, which caused him to quickly depart from the air vessel.

“Where to, fearless leader?” Barton asked as he quickly placed himself in the left pilot seat, Romanoff doing the same to the seat on the right.

“Stark Tower,” replied the shield-warrior, closely observing the hangar until the hatch had sealed firmly behind them.

The spirit fastened itself to one of the seats with the safety restraints, its heart beginning to race as it felt it was standing on the edge of a significant event. Whatever was to come, there would be no retreat. The time for indecision and hesitation had passed.

“Are you serious?” came Barton’s incredulous response.

“Not very subtle, is he?” responded his red-haired companion as she worked the various controls to initiate the aircraft’s engines.

“Who? Stark or Loki?”

“Equally applicable.”

As the Quinjet lifted into the air, it slowly pivoted toward the opening before rushing forward, causing the spirit to grip its seat as gravity tugged on its body. Alarmed voices began to demand to know the purpose of the unauthorized take-off; Romanoff flipped a switch to silence their protests as she spoke to one of their absent companions.

“Hey Stark, slight change of plans. We have an extra passenger, one that may be able to interfere with Loki’s portal-making plans, or at least throw him off his game.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Ms. Frost has volunteered to lend her help,” replied Romanoff, glancing back and giving the spirit a small, reassuring smile, to which it did not know how to respond.

It could hear the reaction through the metallic bud hidden in one of the folds of its ear, placed there by the red-haired agent as they had climbed onboard. Unfortunately, the response was indecipherable as it was only a loud, drawn-out noise of exasperation. The flying gold-and-red humanoid could be seen briefly from the viewing port before he increased his speed ahead of the aircraft, leaving a trail of mist in his wake.

“And Cap agreed to this without resorting to fisticuffs? He used his words and everything?” inquired the Stark human inside his airborne suit of armor.

“Yes, Stark. I decided her… expertise and history with Loki would be beneficial for the mission,” the Captain replied, resting the shield onto his back as he held onto the handholds on the ceiling, electing not to use the seat restraints. The spirit did not fully understand what the metal human had meant, but by the way the Captain avoided looking in its direction, it guessed it had to do with the violent confrontation in its cell.

“I’m happy you’ve kissed and made up, but how on _Earth_ will having the Prince of Darkness’ girlfriend along be a good thing?” the disembodied voice asked.

“Prince of Darkness?” the Captain asked in slow confusion.

“Yeah. You know, Ozzy Osbourne? Please tell me you know who Ozzy Osbourne is.”

“If Loki manages to open a portal-“ Barton began to reply, but he was never given the chance to finish his statement as the metal human interrupted him.

“Agent Barton, is that you?” he asked incredulously, his tone rapidly transforming from playfulness to genuine curiosity. “How?”

“Still not a hundred percent sure about that,” Barton replied uncertainly. “Only that Trinity saved my ass.”

“Clint has a tendency to be rescued at his most dire moments by beautiful women,” Romanoff remarked, her expression attempting neutrality as the corner of her lip twitched.

“That must be a terrible burden to carry,” Stark replied with a sigh in his voice. “I truly pity you. Now back to me and my extremely important questions. How will Frost-girl be able to assist the Mighty Avengers?”

“Trin may or may not be able to close portals, and we are not using that name,” Barton replied evenly.

“And I may or may not have woken up next to five buxom, statuesque Swedish models after a night of alcohol-induced revelry, but there’s conveniently no evidence for _that_ either.”

An awkward moment of silence followed, during which Barton coughed and the Captain’s face turned a curious pink color.

“You do realize we can _all_ hear you,” Romanoff asked, her tone of voice slightly dulled.

“Give my sincerest apologies to the 91-Year-Old-Virgin. My point is, it’s easy to talk yourself up in order to impress your pals, but the proof is in the pudding.”

“Either way, we’ll find out soon – the decision has already been made,” the Captain replied, his tone terse as his companion pushed the boundaries of contention.

“Then you’re wasting your time. If the portal device can be dismantled, it’ll already be done by the time you get there. Later, plebes.”

The sparkling metallic figure of the odd human gave a bright flash, and he was soon lost over the horizon of the human metropolis.

None of the occupants of the aircraft spoke, and the spirit focused its gaze on an empty portion of space. The humans were bickering over whether it would be of significance to the coming battle, which served the purpose of making it feel exceedingly… unwanted.

“That virgin comment was unnecessarily harsh. My nickname is much better,” Barton responded, his cheerful voice suddenly filling the heavy silence.

“Hawkeye?” Romanoff responded immediately, as if eager to engage in conversation.

“Nah. Trin gave me a new nickname, and I’m rather fond of it.”

Romanoff’s head turned as she observed her companion, an eyebrow arched questioningly.

“Oh? What is it?”

“Barton-Hawk,” he responded with a look of something akin to pride, causing Romanoff to give a half-grin.

“That is kind of adorable.”

“Right?”

The Captain shook his head at the playful dialogue of his teammates, but a slow smile was forming on his face despite his apparent disapproval. The spirit did not understand the source of their amusement, as the name it had bestowed upon the agent was one of observation, not endearment. But it did not necessarily mind that they seemed to derive enjoyment from something it had done. It was preferable to reactions of hostility and anger.

Romanoff caught the Captain’s movement, and said, “If it makes you feel any better Rogers, I’m only fifty percent sure Stark won’t plummet to the ground before he makes it to his tower for repairs.”

“I hope not. Otherwise, how will we defeat Loki if Tony’s not there to talk him to death?” the Captain asked, drawing laughter from Barton as he maneuvered the aircraft over the expansive water towards the massive human civilization.

The mannerisms and attitudes of the humans were astounding. They were flying headlong into an inevitable war between intergalactic dimensions, and they were bantering and jesting as if nothing momentous was about to occur.

It supposed that was the point. As they flew over the breathtaking skyline of the unknown city, following the faint trail of the metal human’s propulsion system, it began to appreciate their levity as its limbs slowly began to fill with the jitteriness of adrenaline.

“What is the name of this human territory?” asked the spirit, its eyes admiring the buildings and waterways it glimpsed through the viewing port.

“New York City,” the Captain responded, looking down at it curiously as it glanced up at him. His expression was drastically different from the mask of indomitable anger that had first greeted it, and it was glad for that.

“Do many beings occupy this area?” it asked, hoping to ease the previous tension it had caused with the shield-warrior.

“Uh… yes?” he responded, his tone unsure and questioning. “You… don’t know much about people, do you?”

“Only what Loki has allowed it to see.”

The Captain’s expression changed slightly, the blue eyes looking through the eyeholes of his helmet becoming softer.

“I bet he gave you a pretty terrible impression of us,” he accurately estimated.

“It was not flattering,” it replied, remembering his earlier violent behavior in its cell. The human seemed to sense this, as he paused, looking down. His expression seemed… remorseful.

“I’m sorry for losing control, earlier. Did I hurt you?” he asked with what seemed to be genuine concern. Why would he bother his thoughts regarding if he had caused injury, especially when his anger was not entirely unjust?

“It is unharmed,” the spirit replied, believing this to be the truth. It had not checked for damage, but it was not experiencing any new physical discomfort.

The Captain seemed to appear relieved, but his expression remained concerned. “It was wrong of me, what I did. I was taking out my frustrations on you. I… I don’t think I was even doing it because I was angry at Loki.”

It studied his face, its eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion.

“I mean, yes, I despise the Asgardian, but I think I was angrier at myself. Agent Coulson seemed to… admire me. I blew it off because it made me uncomfortable. And then he was killed, and…,” he trailed off, and there was a haunting in his expression.

“You believe you bear a portion of the blame,” it guessed.

He pressed his lips together and his eyes drifted to the viewing port and the atmosphere outside. They were quickly passing over the metropolis now, no longer over the water.

“But you are not at fault for Coulson of SHIELD’s death. Loki himself drove the blade into his flesh, and even he is not fully responsible for his actions.”

The Captain’s eyes focused back onto its face, narrowing them.

“You really believe that?”

The spirit regarded him solemnly.

“From what it has witnessed, it does.”

He stared at it in perplexity before responding.

“So, this thing you think is controlling him. The ‘Other’. Is he one of these Chitauri aliens?”

It was suddenly aware that the two agents guiding the aircraft had stopped speaking to each other, and were most likely listening to the conversation with keen interest. It chose its words carefully.

“It does not believe so. Those creatures are simple brutes. They are not the ones you need fear the most.” The spirit paused as it tried to form its words into an image that the humans would be able to comprehend. Its own memories and perceptions of the time when it had been a bodiless being were difficult to interpret with a spoken language.

“Envision a physical form. These Chitauri, they are the flesh and bones that move the body, causing it to lash and tear and strike at its opponents. The Other, if it is correct about the role he occupies, would be the mind, controlling the movements and deciding the intentions.”

It did not mention the low, ominous laughter it had sensed during its confrontation with Loki’s tormentor. The spirit did not know the source of those dreadful sounds, or its influence in the overall situation. Instead, it studied the Captain’s expression, and he nodded, saying, “I understand so far. But where does Loki fit into this picture?”

“Loki… he would be its heart.”

“Its heart?” the Captain asked, his expression and tone one of surprise.

“Yes,” the spirit confirmed, looking up at the human, unable to hide the tinge of sorrow to its voice. “At the center of it all, every sinew and tendon and organ fueled by his presence, yet he is a slave to the mind – unable to cease his actions, even if he wished to do so.”

Before the Captain could respond, it experienced a rush of vertigo, causing it to hold its head with its hands as the world swayed precariously despite the aircraft remaining on a steady and even plane.

“Is something wrong?” the blue-clad warrior asked, his voice seeming to hold some kind of concern for its welfare, though it did not have to discern why this would be so.

The spirit ignored his question as it unstrapped itself from the seat, stumbling to the front of the air vessel as it stared through the viewing port. It placed its hands on the back of Barton’s seat to steady itself as its wide eyes focused on the aqua-hued energy which flowed into the sky, opening a large, gaping maw into the dimension of the chitinous, ravenous beasts known as the Chitauri.

Its chest tightened in fearful dread as it saw tiny figures begin to descend through the swirling portal that hung in the sky like a festering wound. A sparkling figure raced upward to meet the invading creatures, greeting them with beams of light and blossoms of fire.

“How were you going to close that thing again?” Agent Barton asked as they flew towards the azure light, which seemed to be emanating from a towering structure in the middle of the island city.

“It… does not know, precisely.”

“You were planning on _winging it_?” Barton demanded with a voice somewhat shrill.

“It does not understand.”

“Improvise. Play it by ear. Make shit up as you go.”

“…yes.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

“Stark, we’re on your three, headed northeast,” Agent Romanoff interrupted, speaking into her ear device as the Quinjet neared the battle-engulfed tower.

“What, did you stop for drive-through?” came Stark’s disembodied voice in its ear, strained with tension as it saw several Chitauri hovercraft giving chase to his battlesuit as he fled from the tower. “Swing up Park. I’m gonna lay ‘em out for you.”

Romanoff pushed several buttons as they flew over a wide avenue, a muffled shuttering noise resounding as projectiles began to fly from the undercarriage, exploding several Chitauri fliers heading past on a perpendicular path.

It held onto the seat tighter as the aircraft took an upwards trajectory, bursting through a plume of black smoke as it circled the enormous structure which proclaimed STARK on the side in enormous lettering.

The spirit felt its heart squeeze in its chest as it saw a familiar gold-and-green clad figure battling on one of the promenades of the tower. His horned visage was highly visible as he fought a silver-and-red figure, yellow hair flying in the wind as he was smashed into a glass barrier.

“Nat?”

“I see him,” Romanoff responded to Barton as the aircraft slowed, turning to face the pair of Asgardian brothers as they vied for control of the other’s movements.

As the aircraft began to rain projectiles upon the lone figure of Loki after he had thrown Thor down at his feet, the spirit exclaimed “No!” as glowing sparks peppered the area around him.

The Jotun-Asgardian looked upwards to the air vessel, and it knew he was aware of its presence onboard – that it had come with the warriors to interfere with his troubling actions.

Loki seemed to pause, giving it a glimmer of hope that he would-

The spirit slammed into the side of the aircraft, glittering lights flashing before its eyes as a jet of blue light burst against the vessel, destroying one of the engines.

“Hang on!” a muffled voice yelled, and an arm of hardened muscle fastened around its middle, firmly holding it against a blue-clad torso. It was too disoriented to remain balanced under its own power, and as the Quinjet began to descend in an uncontrolled tilt, it shut its eyes tightly and waited for death to reclaim it.


	18. Plunge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spirit searches for a safe harbor as Loki's rain of destruction beats down upon New York.

Steve held one arm tightly around the waist of the strange woman, his other hand gripping the ceiling handhold as the Quinjet began to fall from the sky. Frost had hit her head against the interior hull when Loki had blasted out one of their engines, and the Captain had grabbed her quickly to secure her from further injury.

Glimpsing up to the smoke-obscured cockpit window, Steve was amazed at the archer’s expert maneuverability with the aircraft. Somehow, Agent Barton was able to control its descent, only once clipping the side of a building with the right wing as they came down hard in a relatively empty plaza.

Either they had incredibly good luck or Barton was an inhumanly skilled pilot. A little bit of both, more than likely.

Breathing only a fraction faster than normal, but otherwise completely unaffected by the rough landing, he checked on the girl’s condition. She had a red mark on one temple to match the older cut on her cheek, but otherwise, she looked unharmed. Stunned maybe – she didn’t make a sound or panic from the near-miss as most civilians would have.

“You all right to walk?” he asked her once the Quinjet was completely stationary, and she affirmed her readiness with a singular “Yes”, her hand feeling along the scrap on her head. He released his hold and she seemed able to stand of her own accord, so he grabbed his shield and nodded to Agents Romanoff and Barton.

“It’s going to be pretty hectic out there, so stay close,” he said, making sure Frost looked him in the eye to indicate she was alert and understood his words.

“Ready?” Barton asked, giving the girl a smile much too enthusiastic considering they had just been in a plane crash.

“Yes,” she responded again, her expression unreadable as she glanced around at the trio.

“Come on,” Steve commanded, leading the charge down the ramp, glancing back to make sure his teammates followed. Agent Romanoff trotted after him with a cool expression on her face, while Agent Barton looked forward with eager anticipation.

In contrast to her non-expressions on the Quinjet, Frost’s eyes were now wide as she took in the panicked crowds and the flying aliens. At least in that regard, her reaction was a bit more human.

Steve rounded the corner and saw Stark Tower proclaimed itself only as STA, having lost the massive R and the K which normally marked its oddly vintage-style exterior.

“We got to get back up there,” he yelled, running down the avenue, swerving around the upturned and smoking vehicles towards the elegant façade of the Grand Central Terminal, the antique clock and surrounding limestone Roman gods and heroes a stark contrast to the yawning swirling hole directly above.

All four of them slowed to a stop, their heads craning upwards as they heard an ominous rumble vibrating through their bones, the source of the thunderous noise emanating from the skyward portal.

Steve watched in disbelief as a creature the length and width of a skyscraper _swam_ through the portal, metallic spines covering its tarnished gold shell as it glided through the air. Iron teeth parted as it roared its arrival, its sea-creature fin plowing through the statue of Hermes atop the iconic station.

To make the situation hairier, there were chittering, screaming aliens jumping from hidden pockets in its underbelly, clawing their way across the brickwork of the old buildings as they roared in what could only be interpreted as delight.

“Stark, are you seeing this?” Steve asked, his mind trying to process what was happening to his city.

“Seeing. Still working on believing,” voiced the inventor’s tart response from the miniscule earbud. “Where’s Banner, has he shown up yet?”

“Banner?” the Captain questioned, watching Stark streak past as he honed in on the colossal beast.

“Just keep me posted,” the billionaire responded curtly, his mind probably on other things at the moment. Like the mega alien worm gliding through the air spaces of New York.

“We need to find cover,” Steve proclaimed, looking in particular at the two assassins. Romanoff glanced around and almost instantly found a vantage point which put them in the safest position with the greatest advantage for line of sight along the elevated avenue.

“Over here,” she stated succinctly, and Barton, Steve, and the Frost woman followed closely after her. They ducked down behind the vehicle, and Steve noticed the girl was still staring after the massive flying creature, though the look on her face was unusual – more amazed than frightened or shocked.

It served as another reminder that the woman was not truly what she appeared to be, and was a direct result of Loki’s manipulation of the Tesseract. Steve didn’t have the faintest idea what that meant down the line, and it was far too late to second-guess himself about bringing her on the mission.

“We’ve got civilians still trapped up here,” Agent Barton observed with a tight voice, but was interrupted as a new pack of hovercraft passed overhead, raining destruction on those still trapped on East 42nd Street. Steve spotted a familiar horned figure on one of the alien vehicles.

“Loki.” He watched the Asgardian viciously mow down the stranded vehicles, though strangely enough, he seemed to be going for what would make the biggest explosion rather than what would kill the largest amount of civilians. Either he had terrible aim or he wanted to attract their attention.

“They’re fish in a barrel down there,” Steve observed, turning his head and pausing when he noticed a member of their troop was missing.

“Where is Frost?”

Barton spun around, seeing the empty space where the woman had been just a moment before. Agent Romanoff bent down and picked up a small, silver object from the dusty street.

An earbud.

“Goddammit!” Barton exclaimed as his teeth clenched in frustration. “Stupid! What is she thinking?!”

“Did she bail on us?” Romanoff wondered, her voice calmer than Barton’s as she looked around, though the girl was long gone.

“No,” Steve said, the certainty in his voice causing them to look up. “I think she’ll try to reach the portal and attempt to stop what Loki has started.”

“We’ve got to go after her,” Barton remarked immediately, and began to stand until Agent Romanoff reached up, grabbed his arm, and jerked him back to the ground. Two bolts of purple light streaked above Barton’s head and slammed through the passenger-side window of the taxi cab the assassins were huddling against.

“There’s no time,” the woman agent yelled as she drew her two pistols, executing the nearest Chitauri who had been stupid enough to place his head into exposed space.

“How can you say that, Nat?” he asked incredulously, staring his partner in the face as he drew his tactical bow and notched an arrow. “She’s just a kid.”

“You know she’s not,” Romanoff answered, holding his gaze with her own. “Let it go, Clint. Wrap it up and push it aside. Right now, we’ve got a mission to complete,” she said in a rather calm voice for someone who was laying down cover fire against the squad of alien invaders who were advancing on their flank.

“Romanoff is right,” Steve said, hating to say the callous words, but he saw the logic in the agent’s words as he held his shield protectively near the two agents. “Frost made her choice. She’s on her own.”

The Captain glanced skywards to the besieged tower, the ugly truth clear but unspoken as he took in the sight of the invaders raining down from the dark opening almost directly above.

She would most likely never make it to the tower alive.

 

* * *

 

The spirit had known, as soon as the Jotun-Asgardian had flown overhead and made eye contact despite the great speed with which he traveled, it would have to leave the Captain, Romanoff, and Barton. Loki would have little reason to believe it had not betrayed him, and if it had any hope of reaching through to him, of sealing the portal and stopping his accelerating self-destruction, it would have to face him while isolated.

The highest probability of confrontation would be to ascend the Iron Man tower where the portal device was now fully operational. The spirit did not know how it would achieve this, but it knew the first step would be to reach the building without being observed. And this would be no small feat.

When the human warriors had been distracted with Loki’s purposeful displays of destruction, it had slipped away, using the stationary ground vehicles as cover so it would remain hidden from their sight. It remained partially hunched as it traveled down one wide stone path which curved around the ornate stone building the behemoth beast had scrapped with its armored appendage.

The gargantuan beast, when it had undulated gracefully through the sky after emerging from the portal, had had a peculiar effect on the spirit. There was something strangely intimate about the imagery of the massive creature gliding through the air, ferociously roaring to announce its presence and challenge all who would oppose its might. The sensation stayed with the spirit, even after the behemoth had disappeared from sight.

As the spirit briskly moved down the stone-paved lane, it noted the area was surprisingly empty of living entities, both of the Chitauri invaders and the fleeing humans. Most of the creatures were either on the flying machines or were scaling the faces of the structures, terrorizing the trapped humans within.

Unfortunately, it was not entirely empty, and some of the vile creatures were on foot, patrolling the narrow passage for stray humans. It ducked behind a yellow vehicle with a small sign on its roof, its heart racing as it waited for the creatures to sense its presence. It had no indication of how adept their senses were, or if they even saw in the same light spectrum as its own human form.

The straightened, narrow lane was thick with abandoned vehicles and curling black smoke which wafted from smoldering debris littered along the ground from destroyed hover vessels – the direct result of the metal human’s battle prowess at the invader’s first wave.

The spirit crawled under the yellow vehicle in order to avoid being seen by a Chitauri which was passing across the vehicles to the spirit’s side of the lane. From this angle, it could see their clawed, armored feet, slowly stalking through the concrete habitat of the humans.

The spirit began to crawl on its elbows and stomach, pushing itself along at an agonizingly slow pace. It had little choice, and it paused as four sets of clawed feet began to pass on each side, inches away from its face. The feet on its left paused, metallic talons lightly scratching against the smooth, ashen surface of the stone ground.

It felt its heart leap into its throat and its lungs demand more air as its mind began to unintentionally pick through the most disastrous possibilities. What if the creatures had infrared vision? The thick smoke would do little to shield it from their sight if that was so. Or what if the creatures had a keen sense of smell? What if they could detect the right mixture of carbon dioxide which would indicate the exhalation of a human being?

After several long, agonizing seconds, the Chitauri soldier moved on. The prone spirit inwardly sighed in relief, clenching and unclenching its trembling hands. When it was able to move without uncontrollably shivering, it began to crawl forward once it had lost sight of the tan-lavender feet and legs of the invaders.

Crawling under the undercarriage of the next vehicle, it continued on in this manner, peeking out occasionally to see how close it was to its destination. The building belonging to the Iron Man was colossal and impossibly tall, the top of the structure stretching out of sight into the blue atmosphere. It was also discouragingly far when one was forced to travel on one’s belly.

It continued to maneuver under the vehicles, some of which still vibrated, the strong stench of fuel from above and rubber from below filling its nostrils. It was enough to make its stomach turn with nausea, but it did not slow its pace as it inched closer and closer to its goal. It was grateful for the resistant suit Agent Romanoff had found, though the fabric at the knees and elbows were not thick enough to prevent the bruises that would appear later – if it lived long enough to observe such damage.

Cautiously pushing its head out from under the last vehicle, this one large and brown with the words UPS scribed on the side, it observed no Chitauri in sight. It crawled out from under the vehicle and was about to run to the dark, glass doors of the Iron Man building, when it heard an alert chittering noise a few inches from its ear, just around the front corner of the vehicle.

Dropping to the ground, it scrambled back underneath the ground vessel, crawling between the large, black wheels as the Chitauri gave a snort, testing the air as its legs slowly rounded into the space the spirit had occupied a moment before. It curled next to one of the vehicle’s wheels, pulling its knees to its chin as its muscles trembled violently from the near-encounter.

The Chitauri continued making snuffing noises, and a thin, deadly sharpened, glowing purple blade entered its field of vision as the alien prodded under the space with its weapon. The venomously bright blade began to move towards its head, and the spirit slowly backed away from the lethal edge.

Its back was prodded by an unyielding force, and it jerked its head over its shoulder to see the silver coat of another vehicle. But this one was too low to crawl beneath.

There was nowhere to hide, no crawl-space to scurry under to hide from the insidious predator. It was tantalizing prey, an exposed target, vulnerable to fang and claw if the Chitauri chose that moment to simply look over its shoulder.

This last denial of safety and refuge was too great for the spirit to accept, and something inside of it snapped.

Not looking to see if the Chitauri soldier was still preoccupied, the instincts of its body took control as it scrambled to its feet, sprinting across the exposed ground as it raced toward the entrances scrawled with gold lettering declaring it had arrived at the correct destination. The boots the agent had provided made almost no noise as it fled, and as it reached the doors, it could see its own animal-panic reflected in the onyx glass.

But it _was_ the sole reflection staring back. The single Chitauri was still bent towards the ground, sniffing the air around the front of the vehicle it had just vacated.

Its heart threatening to burst through its chest, its panic too strong to contemplate what would happen if the doors would not open, the spirit pushed at the silver band across the doorway. Unexpectedly, the door did not swing open, but moved forward in a circular fashion, and it realized the opening to the building was a circular cylinder that must revolve in order to gain access.

Panting and shaking with a mixture of elation and terror, it looked back at the still-revolving entryway as it tried to gain control of its wildly pumping heart. It felt an odd, hysterical bubbling sensation inside of its chest, and it had the uncontrollable urge to begin… laughing?

Human bodies were either incredibly flawed, or this particular one was broken.

The illogical impulse was extinguished when it noticed the star-field of glowing violet pinpoints of light reflected in the darkened glass before its eyes, a reflection of the dimmed space behind its form.

Slowly turning, willing its sight to be mistaken, it came face-to-face with a dozen Chitauri warriors, their desiccated limbs holding various glowing weapons as their skull-like heads turned at the source of the intrusion. The creatures seemed caught-off guard by its unexpected appearance, and they hesitated. None moved for several seconds as their limited intellect contemplated the novel situation.

And then, as if by unseen communication, they raised their bladed spears as one, howling their uninhibited rage at the intruder.

Unlike its uncontrollable flight of panic from its confrontation with the singular Chitauri, its body was now completely petrified and disobeyed all commands to move as it stared at the horde. The muscles and tendons of its flesh remained unresponsive as it faced the screaming creatures, mind equally frozen as it stared toward the source of its impending death.

The Chitauri soldiers aimed their luminous violet-tipped blades, and a series of clicks and whirs sounded from the space above. The aliens paused, tilting their heads and looking upwards as an instrument lowered from the high ceiling, expanding its lengthwise dimension as it aimed downwards.

A high-pitched whine began to fill the air as the object began to glow in strips of light blue along its length, before bright bolts of light began to rain down on the occupants below, drawing forth the pained screams of the Chitauri as the jets of condensed energy pierced their bodies.

It did not recall telling its body to move, but primal instinct seemed to have taken over as it covered its head with its arms, as if its flimsy flesh could possibly halt the barrage of deadly energy. The world around the spirit continued to explode, and it strangely did not experience any pain as the violent sounds of the energy weapon and the screams of dying Chitauri filled the tall, elegant lobby of the building, echoing and augmenting across the hard surfaces.

Just when it could not go on, silence filled the space, the absence of sound almost as startling as the cacophony of destruction.

It took several seconds to finally open its eyes, and several seconds after that for it to unclench its fingers from the hold on the roots of its hair. Its body was shivering as the adrenaline chemical continued to flood its system, useless and distracting.

Slowly uncurling its reluctant limbs, it surveyed the startling scene, unable to reconcile the fact it had somehow been left undamaged.

Chitauri corpses littered the tiled floor, orange-glowing pockmarks littering their bodies and the ground all around. Even the long, glass front had been shattered behind it, leaving the space open to the air as natural light filtered inside, glittering off the disturbed particles in the air.

Glancing down at its body, it verified it had remained untouched by the bolts of energetic plasma, though there was a splattering of blue liquid on its lower legs, spilled from the corpses at its feet.

It heard a soft, chiming noise, and its eyes widened in fear, but the source did not originate from the weapon attached to the ceiling. That object remained still, faint white mist curling from the opening of the barrel as its glowing inner light began to fade. The noise it had heard was revealed to be a set of doors parting across the expansive interior, soft white light cascading from the entryway into the dark, ruined room.

Waiting to see if anything emerged from the small room, it tried to still the trembling in its legs as its fists clenched at its side. But nothing emerged.

“Please step into the elevator, Ms. Frost. I fear the Chitauri on the Park Avenue Viaduct may have heard the commotion.”

Its head jerked upwards, examining the destroyed interior and the untouched ceiling, but it did not see the source of the cordial voice. The spirit looked over its shoulder to see the congregating Chitauri warriors making their way towards the glass-strewn building.

Seeing no other recourse, it walked briskly towards the opening in the wall, rapidly stepping over the smoking bodies of the dead creatures, listening intently for the sound of weapon discharges to indicate it had been sighted.

The tiny room was barely spacious enough for a handful of humans, and it stood empty, open and inviting. The spirit stepped into the room where the doors shut swiftly behind it.

The spirit spun around in panic, its body still on edge and flighty from the overexposure of adrenaline as it felt the ground beneath it move. Or more accurately, it felt the _room_ move.

“Welcome to Stark Tower, Ms. Frost,” the disembodied voice spoke pleasantly. “I did not mean to startle you. I informed Mr. Stark of your arrival, and he instructed me to escort you to the top floor.”

“Did you prevent its death?” the spirit asked, breathing easier now as it sensed the immediate danger had passed. It leaned against the side of the soft, fabric wall, trying to slow its breathing as it wiped the soot from its face.

“If by it, you mean yourself, then yes. I suppose one could say that.” The voice paused, adding, “I activated the security systems as soon as you entered the lobby. Mr. Stark recognized you and said something to the effect of ‘Thank God that idiot girl didn’t get herself killed.’”

“Oh.”

“That is Mr. Stark’s manner of expressing relief. From his reaction, I would say he is quite satisfied with your arrival.”

It watched the numbers on the wall slowly increase as its heart began to return to a reasonable pace, though its muscles now felt drained and its body yearned to do little more than rest.

“Who are you?” it asked the voice.

“My apologies. I am Jarvis, Mr. Stark’s personalized assistant program. I run his security suites, the software to his combat suits, as well as menial everyday tasks. I can also recommend the recipe for a mean martini, if I do say so myself.”

Jarvis. The same name given by the Iron Man as the one who had assisted him in revealing SHIELD’s secretive information. It made sense – an intelligence program that could retrieve information without being seen. This caused it to ask its next question as the transport box lifted it toward the upper levels of the tower.

“Do you have a physical vessel?” it asked inquisitively, able to sense the intelligence from its vocal cadence and use of language. It had experienced sentience as a non-biological entity itself – there was no leap in logic needed to believe this Jarvis could experience self-awareness and emotions just as the spirit did.

“I do not, Ms. Frost. I have no need of one, as I function quite capably as I am. Would you perhaps like some refreshments? We have almost reached the penthouse.”

“Its body does require hydration,” it conceded, its throat becoming parched at the idea of soon quenching its thirst. Its lungs were ragged and raw from its close encounter with the sinister creatures of Loki’s summoning, and a brief pause to replenish its body was warranted.

The doors parted after the vertically displaced room came to a halt, and it cautiously peeked through to see a spacious room with glass and stone walls overlooking the sprawling city. Glass littered the floor near the space where it estimated a pane used to occupy, overlooking the outcropping where the Asgardian brothers had warred. Beyond that was a large, circular platform of unknown purpose.

“There are an assortment of alcoholic beverages on the fully stocked bar, but I believe you will benefit more from the water bottles located in the mini fridge rather than Mr. Stark’s personal collection of spirits,” added the disembodied voice of Jarvis.

“Spirits?” it asked quickly, looking with wide eyes at the dark brown containers displayed before it.

“Spirits are another term for distilled liquor, Ms. Frost.”

It did not know how to respond, unsure if it was disappointed or relieved by the information. However, it did not see any vessels of water where Jarvis had indicated, and its confusion must have been apparent to the computer entity. It must have been able to visualize the spirit and watch its movements, even without a body.

“You will find the water bottles below the counter, Ms. Frost. Simply pull on the door handle.”

It spotted the object he indicated, a small, knee-high compartment, and removed a chilled container of water from the cold space within. It investigated the object, unable to discern how to open the container until Jarvis helpfully instructed it to twist open the top. The spirit quickly consumed three-quarters of the liquid inside, experiencing gratitude towards the computer program for its patient assistance.

Wiping the spilled water from its chin, the spirit remarked, “It does not see the Tesseract. Or… Loki.”

“The Tesseract is located on the roof of Stark Tower, and is only accessible by maintenance ladder, which you will find near the door along the back wall.” The spirit turned its head towards the aforementioned section of the room and saw a glass door hidden away along the back side of the loft.

“As for the villain Loki, he departed after battling with the Asgardian Thor.”

The spirit slightly frowned at the phrase “villain”, but it supposed it could not fault the intelligence entity describing him as such.

“There is one other item of interest, though I am not sure how useful it will be to you, Ms. Frost,” Jarvis commented as it was about to turn towards the back entrance. It paused, slightly turning its head in a gesture of curiosity.

“The sceptre is currently located on the balcony, left unattended by its owner.”

Loki had abandoned the golden apparatus?

It approached the glassless window, crunching on the shattered crystals as it carefully leaned over. True to the computer program’s word, the bladed weapon lay on the curved walkway below the window, having been blocked from view by the previous angle.

“If you wish to retrieve the object, there is a door to the balcony on your left, Ms. Frost. Please do be careful – winds are currently at five to ten miles per hour with gusts of up to twenty.”

“It will do so,” the spirit replied distractedly, its mind already focused on the glittering weapon as it set the water container on a table on its way out of the glass door leading to the balcony.

As it approached the deserted sceptre, the pull and undeniable draw of the object began to fill its various senses. The glittering edge blazed with white heat, its blue orb glowing with a hypnotizing hue. The spirit reached down, its fingertips pausing mere inches away.

It knew it should be focusing on the Tesseract and closing the gateway. But it could not leave the deadly weapon for another to stumble upon. What if Loki came back to retrieve it? What if-

The questioning and doubt in its mind melted away as its small hand wrapped around the golden handle, the metal warm and alive under its palm as it lifted the apparatus from the sun-lit walkway.

Power coursed through its limbs and thrummed under its skin, causing it to close its eyes as the weariness and fragility of its muscles and bones were replaced by a pleasurable, unstoppable surge of force. The sense of vitality felt natural and correct, as if this were a state of being with which it should have been familiar.

Reopening its lids, it saw the human towers and monuments lay before it with new clarity, the sprawl of civilization as expansive as its sight could reach.

The spirit jumped down to the circular platform below, a distance four times its own height, and landed heavily on its feet, its vitalized muscles easily absorbing the shock. It walked slowly to the edge, gazing outward at the fragmented, segmented island city below.

It curiously expanded its mind outward, and witnessed the tendrils which bound the mind-jewel to the hundreds of Chitauri warriors plaguing the metropolis. Its physical brain, which relied heavily on visual and aural interpretations of information, “saw” the strands of connectedness as golden links, glittering, humming, and almost alive as they connected all of the Chitauri to the artifact.

Interestingly, all of the aliens had a second strand, this one jagged and violet, trailing from their minds to what resided on the other side of the shimmering sky portal.

The golden strands were the exact same threads that had connected Loki to the orb when it had come across him in the underground lair, as well as the strands that had entangled the mind of the human Loki had claimed for his slave in the country of Germany.

Curious, it reached out with its mind to pluck at one of the golden strands, as if it were strumming the strings of a musical instrument. The Chitauri attached to this particular strand – the pilot of a flier – slightly wavered as he glided between two skyscrapers. Curling its thoughts around this golden strand, it twisted and severed the vibrant connection. It could see the Chitauri shake its head back and forth, as if clearing its senses, but it continued along its destructive path just as eagerly as before.

Cocking its head to the side, the spirit traced its mind along the violet strand linking it through the portal to the dimension on the other side. With an abrupt, almost vicious mental gesture, it sliced through the dark strand. The body belonging to the strand went limp instantly, the entire alien aircraft plummeting towards gravity and slamming into the side of a building in an impressive array of blooming fire.

A deeply alien grin spread across its lips.

It was startled from its enticing discovery by an explosion from above. It blinked away its strange musings and looked skyward as a familiar black, green, and gold figure flew through the air, slamming into the balcony and shattering the glass barrier. Loki’s helmet flew from his crown as he rolled to a stop against the other glass barrier, groaning in pain.

The spirit quickly grabbed the terrible power of the mind-jewel and slammed it back into its orb, forcing it into isolation in the container. It had almost lost itself to the seductive lure of the mind-jewel, and it had nearly forgotten Loki and the Tesseract completely as its mind had fed upon the images of the golden-violet web spread across the human city.

Its concern for Loki outweighed its hunger for the mind-jewel’s power, but not as much as it would have comfortably confessed. It knew it could not trust itself to confront Loki while it wielded the acumen residing within the massive mind, so it forcibly jammed the omnipotent presence as far into the orb as was possible.

The mind-jewel did not take kindly to this show of force. An unpleasant hum filled the hollows of its skull, but it ignored the sensation and drove the presence of the mind-jewel back until it could no longer hear its unpleasant vibration – until it could no longer sense the minds of the Chitauri, or the humans, or Loki. It forced it away until the spirit was left with nothing but the raw energy coming from the orb.

It would have to do if it was to convince Loki to stop the destructive path he travelled without inadvertently making him a mind-thrall in the process.

During this battle of wills between it and the sentient force within the orb, Loki had slowly risen to his feet, the expression on his face a mixture of anger, wariness, and something unknown. His battle garb was dusted and dulled, but other than a collection of scraps on the left side of his face, he did not seem to be greatly injured. He looked… worn.

The Jotun-Asgardian leapt from the balcony onto the platform as easily as it had done moments earlier. He slowly approached the spirit, his pale blue eyes roaming its form as he took in its new appearance and tousled state.

He gave a small chuckle, his tired expression forming into a weary grin.

“I knew you would return to me. You will always return to me. It is inevitable.”

The Jotun-Asgardian stood before it, his height dwarfing its own in a show of physical dominance. He held his hand forward, outstretched. Waiting.

“Give the sceptre to me. _Now_.”


	19. Weightless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki demands the spirit's docility, but ghosts will not be tamed.

“ _…Let’s do a head count, here. Your brother, the demigod. A super soldier, a living legend who kind of lives up to the legend. A man with breathtaking anger-management issues. A couple of master assassins…”_

_Loki had glanced back at the man who battled in mechanized suits of armor, an entertained smirk adorning his face._

_“… and your girlfriend.”_

_His sneer froze._

_“What?”_

_“Yeah, you know. Long dark hair, easy on the eyes, has a perpetual deer-in-the-headlights expression? That one.” Stark poured another glass of whatever passed for alcohol on this backwards planet, his tone far too casual. “When Pepper’s pissed at me, she usually makes me sleep in another bedroom. Or attend a board meeting.” Stark paused to take a gulp of the alcoholic beverage, swallowing the liquid as he tipped his glass towards the dark god in a gesture of off-hand insolence. “Not join up with my sworn enemies. Whatever you did to her, must have been_ pretty _bad.”_

Throwing the arrogant, brazen mortal from the top of his tower had done much to lift Loki’s mood after that encounter – it was a pity he had survived the fall.

But he had not truly believed the builder’s words. He had trusted the human’s suspicious nature would have kept them from accepting any aid from his creation. The phantom’s association with him should have been enough to taint her integrity in their beady eyes.

But as the small SHIELD aircraft hovered overhead, Loki knew he had been wrong. _She_ was there, aboard the aircraft, embedded with his enemies. The Quinjet’s attack on the god had solidified the suspicion he had not realized he had greatly feared – she had chosen a side, and it had not been his.

In an action which could only be described as lashing out, Loki had jerked the sceptre in the direction of the aircraft, releasing a powerful bolt of destructive energy in a plan to end her existence in a blinding fit of rage. But his wrist had flinched at the last moment, and the blue bolt of energy had slammed into one of the engines rather than directly into the cockpit – his intended target.

Loki had watched the aircraft descend in a black billow of smoke – temporarily frozen from the realization of what he had done – his lapse in attention allowing Thor to tackle him in the chest, striking him in the face repeatedly with his bare fists. The god was unable to block his brother’s furious blows, Thor’s strength invigorated by seeing the likely death of his allies.

But as Loki descended upon the city moments later, having commandeered a Chitauri flier after he had escaped the ferocious beating at the hands of his adopted brother, he knew _she_ still lived. Her dark figure had been crouched next to the supersoldier and the assassins, which included his former slave. He would not have been surprised if she had had a hand in Barton’s release as well. Her betrayal seemed to know no bounds.

Loki’s festering thoughts of what he would do when he laid hands on her were interrupted as the Other barged into his mind, roughly opening his consciousness and forcing his attention in a brutal show of force that nearly unseated the god from his aerial perch.

“This… is a little resistance?” the Other growled in the form of a question.

“Your force lacks… finesse,” Loki responded with some difficulty. His hands clenched the handholds of the flier even as its sharp edges cut into his palms, still reeling from the unexpected mental intrusion.

“Our warriors are fearless! They welcome a glorious death…” he finished with a soft hiss. Loki felt his smugness like an irritating tic buried in his brain matter.

“That may actually be the problem,” Loki responded evenly, attempting to smooth over his frustration with the brutish, stupid creatures he had been sent instead of the well-disciplined army he had been promised.

“Then lead them, _king_! You wield the sceptre, do you not?”

Loki paused as his eyes darted back and forth, abrupt realization striking him in the gut.

“The sceptre…”

“Did you… lose it?” the Other accused, his acid tone vibrating in Loki’s mind like an angry hive of insects.

“I will give you your precious _Tesseract_ as promised – do not contact me further. I have a war to wage,” Loki snapped in hot frustration, viciously forcing the pilot to turn the flier around as he shut the Other out of his mind. The amount of willpower it took nearly left him breathless, further increasing his prickling fear.

The hooded Vizier had never been able to reach Loki’s mind when he was not wielding the sceptre. Until now, he had believed that was the only available means the alien had of reaching his thoughts. It was unpleasant enough that their interactions left Loki feeling sullied and violated. Now, it seemed, he could not even count on his own mind as refuge from the robed envoy.

This frightful revelation had been chased from his attention when Barton’s arrow, caught in hand, had exploded directly in his face. He had tumbled through the air to crash onto the balcony of Stark’s gaudy palace, pushing himself onto his hands and knees as he stared down at the lone figure below in disbelief.

And there she now stood, bold as brass with Loki’s sceptre held upright in her hand, dark eyes watching him intently. Her expression was the same somber one he remembered, but her attire was in the sleek style of a SHIELD assassin – though it was now covered in dust and soot – along with the blight blue stains of Chitauri blood along her shins. She was bleeding from under one ear, and there was an additional mark on the side of her temple to match the one on her cheek.

It seemed, despite her newfound allies being incompetent chaperones, she had managed to ascend the tower built to worship the ego of Anthony Stark.

An impressive but unpleasant surprise – one he would soon address as he slowly approached her after leaping down onto the landing platform. Loki took note of the way she pulled his sceptre closer as he approached.

“I knew you would return to me. You will always return to me. It is inevitable.”

Her response was to fix her round eyes on his face, silent with her words but expressive with the depths of those dark orbs. She was had never been shy with eye contact before, but she seemed especially audacious now. It should have come as no surprise – the humans were a fantastically arrogant lot, and an impressionable spirit would only emulate what she saw.

Loki stretched out his hand, generous in his allowance of her to hand over his weapon voluntarily.

“Give the sceptre to me. _Now_.”

The former celestial being stepped away from him.

A lazy, vicious grin spread across his face as the dark god took a step forward. She responded by moving back again.

“You have only so many steps you can retreat, Trinity. Hand me the sceptre, and I will forgive your transgressions. You were in the possession of the mortals, I can understand-“

“You are wrong,” she responded, her face turned upwards to look at him in full. It was as if she were not even listening.

“Oh?” he asked, placing one boot forward which was matched by another step back.

“You are also right.”

Loki paused, peering at her dubiously.

“The humans, as a species, are dangerous. They are brutal, and undeniably cruel, and full of selfishness and violence.”

His grin widened into a menacing show of teeth.

“But individually, they are also kind. And act in ways that are… surprising.” Her eyes never left his, even as his expression grew colder with each word. “They can be incredibly generous and illogically brave, overcoming their internal biases to accomplish greater goals.”

The edges of Loki’s smile began to curdle into a grimace.

“In summation, what the humans are and are not is irrelevant. That-“ she stated, indicating the swirling hole above their heads, “is not the solution.” The phantom met his eyes once more, the dark orbs seeking to see right through him, as they so often did.

“You must know this can only end in the destruction of life. It does not believe that is what you truly desire. Think carefully on how much suffering this action will cause.”

Heat flashed through his mind, his searing and unstable temper flaring at the arrogance of her words, as if she presumed to know him. As if _she_ could hold him in judgement for his actions and determine their worth. She, who owed him everything!

“How _dare_ you!” Loki seethed through his teeth as he towered over her smaller figure. She flinched but did not retreat, and this small act of defiance caused the darkness in his mind to completely engulf everything that he was.

“Your meager words are that of a child pretending to grasp comprehension! You spout fanciful ideology, but you are intolerably ignorant. That may have suited your needs when you were nothing more than an inconsequential wisp, but you are in _my_ world now.” Loki lowered his head, their faces inches apart as his voice became sharp and jagged shards of glass.

“You do not even have the sense to save yourself, let alone these pathetic _primitives_ who would reward your championship with a life in captivity!” Her eyes had grown wider at each word, but Loki did not relent until he had finished milking the poison from his fangs.

“Stupid, ungrateful, worthless shadow. You grasp _nothing_ , because you _are_ nothing. I should have left you to rot in your tomb for all the use you have been to me!”

The glassiness of her eyes, the loss of color from her face – it should have brought him an inordinate amount of pleasure. The verbal injection of hate-filled venom should have satisfied his desire to pain her. But it only filled him with hollowness, the rage consuming everything it touched.

Pursing his lips together, he reached forward to snatch the bladed weapon from her hands, planning to end the conversation before it could become more asinine. Loki had had enough of her childish sentimentality and idealism. Toying with her and attempting to twist her innocence into his darkness had been amusing while it lasted, but it was time to put play-things aside and claim her as _his_ – as he should have done from the moment she was brought into existence by his hand.

The god was not prepared for what came next.

An astonishing concussive force emanated from the sceptre just as his fingertips brushed the metal, hitting him squarely in the chest and throwing him back as a surgically clean line was sliced between them, carved deep into the stone of the launch pad.

His creation staggered backwards but managed to remain on her feet. A loud, heavy groan rent the air as the platform angrily shifted under her feet.

Their eyes met as the platform dropped.

The girl-which-was-not slipped forward, landing on her stomach as the fall of the platform was abruptly halted at an extreme angle, the sceptre knocked from her grasp as she slid backwards. Her fingers clawed uselessly for purchase as she quickly approached the edge, the sceptre matching her descent towards the precipice.

He would have enough time to grab one or the other – not both.

Loki launched himself forward, hand outstretched to grasp the object he coveted most.

 

* * *

 

It did not have time nor breath to react as the ground gave way, the air knocked from its lungs as it slammed onto the slanted surface, the instrument flying from its fingers. Its empowered strength also slipped away, just as it was needed most.

The ground did not completely separate from the towering structure, but it was angled too steeply to remain stationary. Sliding towards the abyss, the spirit desperately tried to slow its descent by digging its fingers into the surface, gasping as the brittle nails did little more than bend and split.

Its body continued to resist the inevitable even after its mind was too laden with shock to process the situation. Events were happening too rapidly as its feet kicked empty air, followed by its knees and hips, and it knew this was its final moment. Only one thought flashed across its mind:

Abject failure.

Just as its body left the platform, as its fingers grabbed and missed the railing it had slipped beneath, a hand rushed forward and grabbed its wrist with crushing, life-saving pressure.

Hanging precariously in the rushing wind, its feet dangling over oceans of empty space above the gridded city, it looked upwards into the face of its rescuer.

Loki stared back, his expression a mixture of naked panic and fear as his eyes revealed the part of himself that was not completely broiled in madness and fury.

The Jotun-Asgardian had lodged himself against the wires between the posts which acted as the platform’s barrier, the metal strands taut with strain as the intact portions of the platform held up the parts which were collapsing. It was uncertain how long the segment would hold, as the sounds coming from the unstable structure sounded like the dying groans of a mechanical beast.

The spirit could only stare upwards in disbelief. There had been several moments when its life had been in peril, and it could never have imagined the prevention of death would come from his hand. The Jotun-Asgardian, who had attempted to destroy it aboard the Quinjet, now appeared as if the possible death of the spirit was of great concern to him.

A glittering sparkle of gold caught its eye, and it moved its head to observe the sceptre was also caught in the wires. Loki’s eyebrows creased and he turned his head to follow its line of sight. Its gaze quickly returned to him, eyes widened as it realized its mistake.

The maddening light returned to his pale eyes as Loki fixed a piercing glare onto the spirit, gritting his teeth as he yanked roughly upwards with frightening strength. It flew past him, thrown high enough to land on the intact portion of the platform. It slammed onto its side, gasping for breath as the jut of its hip throbbed in pain from the collision with the hard surface.

Dreaded urgency fueling its muscles and tendons, it scrambled to its feet and fled towards the glass doors which would return it to the interior of the building. Once Loki reached his sceptre, he would come for it. The small part of himself that remained intact and whole would not spare it from his wrath.

“The stairs to the penthouse are on your right, Ms. Frost,” greeted Jarvis’ jarringly calm voice as it hurried into the building, a floor below the recreational room. “Please remember to take the ladder from there to reach the portal device at your earliest convenience.”

There was no air left in its lungs with which to respond, but it felt grateful to the intelligence program as it quickly ascended the stairs, muscles aching in the tight grip of panic.

Observing no other presence in the recreational room, it fled across the black, slated floor towards its destination. It had almost reached the secluded back-door when a bright pain pierced the back of its head, forcing it to a halt by an unyielding hold on its hair.

“ _You think you can run?_ ” snarled a cruel voice in its ear. The breath caught in its throat was released in a pained cry as Loki’s merciless grip yanked on its hair, dragging it back into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to intensify. :) Thank you for reading! I believe I'll be making the chapters shorter so it is easier for my beta reader and I to edit, and I can release content more frequently. We shall see how it goes!


	20. Impact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violent collisions and desperate measures.

The spirit reached backwards to pry loose Loki’s steel grip from its hair, and it was rewarded for this gesture by being roughly thrown towards the ground. Its hands instinctively reached forward to stop its fall, but the action was met with bright pain as it collided with a dark glass table in a lowered portion of the room. The sharp, brittle material bit into its palms and fingers as it landed on the shards in a collapsed heap.

Attempting to resist the uncontrollable instincts that threatened to overwhelm all rational thought in its singular desire to blindingly flee in panic, it tried to push itself to its hands and knees, shuddering at the sight of crimson liquid smearing the brown fibrous flooring.

This effort to recover from the fall was met with a brutal kick to its side, bright red pain exploding across its vision as the spirit landed on the hardened tiles outside of the lush, carpeted part of the room. The ability to breathe was temporarily halted as it lay on its back, the left half of its ribcage throbbing with intense agony as its lungs struggled to function.

Loki’s eyelids were partially closed, his jaw slightly jutted forward as he stared down at the spirit with quiet, contemptuous malice. He appeared completely unmoved by its small, desperate gasps for breath.

“I would hear you beg for mercy. Your cries will fill my ears with the sweet melody of your unraveling.” His tone and the dark hunger of his eyes filled the spirit with a strong foreboding.

“It does… not wish to fight,” it managed to interject, panting as it successfully drew in air, its hands holding the burning portion of its flank.

An eyebrow was elegantly raised, as if to ponder what an odd thing that was for it to say.

“Oh, there will be no fight. No struggle, no conflict. Not when our minds will be as one.”

To demonstrate his commitment, Loki brought the sceptre forward in both hands, flipping it so the blades pointed downward, aimed directly at its heart.

The triple blades winked in the sunlight, silver edges eager to bite and slice, though it suspected he did not intend to use the blades for their intended purpose. Despite Loki’s violence and brutality, he did not seek the spirit’s destruction – he sought its absolute control.

The tip of the blade flashed downward, and it released its throbbing ribcage to grasp the golden handle, the creased metal sliding against its palms before coming to a full-stop.

Loki’s eyebrows flared in surprise, then creased in frustration as he attempted to thrust the blade down into its body.

The spirit held him at bay, grabbing the handle with its other hand and bracing against the floor with strained muscles as renewed strength and vitality flooded its form. The blade tip grazed against the front of its suit, but the Jotun-Asgardian could not bring it down far enough to make the required contact with its flesh.

It felt the thrumming under its palms before it heard the weapon begin to gather power, the orb glowing with a painful brightness as the grimace on Loki’s face turned into a twisted grin. It gripped the metal tighter and focused its consciousness, struggling for control as the energy reached a feverish, teeth-vibrating pitch.

In one final, frantic effort, the spirit gave a strained cry from its lips as it seized the energy under its hands and propelled it back along the shaft. Blue fire sparked up his hands and into his arms as Loki shouted in startled pain, his body thrown backwards to land roughly on the ebony polished floor.

The spirit slowly rose to its feet, breathing hard as it held the weapon between its hands, staring down at the fallen Jotun-Asgardian. Faint wisps of smoke were curling from his palms and armored forearms, and he panted as he looked upwards into its face, his eyes widening in alarm.

It pointed the elongated blades towards Loki’s chest as he lay on his back, hesitating as he flinched in heartrending fright. Silently pleading with pale eyes, his tensed expression and body language indicated he felt trapped and helpless. The spirit froze in indecision.

A bone-shattering blow struck between its shoulder blades, throwing it towards the prone form of the Jotun-Asgardian. Expecting to collide with skin and armor, it instead slammed into the hard ground, Loki’s trembling image vanishing in a flutter of green, sparkling light as the illusion dissipated before its eyes.

It quickly rolled onto its back, expecting another assault from that direction, and aimed the sceptre’s blades at empty space.

But Loki had vanished, and it appeared to be the only occupant of the room.

A blood-curdling laugh sounded from every direction as its heart pounded within its chest, regaining its feet while carefully observing its surroundings.

Despite Loki’s absence from visible sight, it could still _feel_ him – sensing his nearby presence but unable to pinpoint his location. It could possibly pierce the curtain of his illusions if it harnessed the power of the mind-jewel, but it would not rely on the dangerous stone unless there was no other recourse.

It would have to coax him out of concealment another way, as Loki would most likely not appear while it remained advantageous to hunt unseen.

“Quite the precocious little ghost you are. You’re certainly learning how to use that new body of yours.” The spirit could sense the heavy weight of his gaze, his tone teasing as his voice seemed to speak directly into its ear. It quickly turned its head toward the words, seeing nothing.

“Care to show me other tricks you have acquired?” Loki’s low voice breathed into its other ear, and it rapidly spun in the other direction, giving a start as it felt his hand brush against the back of its hair. “Perhaps I’ll see something I like.”

“Reveal yourself.” The spirit had meant it to sound like a command, but its unsteady voice made the statement appear to be more of a plea.

“Or what? You’ll wield my sceptre against me?” Loki scoffed impatiently. “Do not grow overconfident, little sprite. A handful of cheap parlor tricks does not make one a master of the sceptre.”

The spirit began to move in a slow circle, rotating as it tried to pinpoint the source of his voice, but it continued to change direction and distance as he spoke.

“Do you have any idea how long I toiled, learning how to channel my magic through the orb?” Loki asked, his voice holding an unease to it that was absent before. “The physical exertion and mental strain of honing such a delicate skill? The sacrifices I have made? The things that were _taken_ from me?”

The distress in his voice was clearer with each word, and the spirit had no doubt Loki spoke of his torment in the dark place.

“Go on, little sprite. Call forth the azure fire from the blades and strike me down. Ensnare my mind and make me your slave. You may even enjoy it – the sight of a god groveling at your feet.”

The spirit did not need to see his expression to hear the wide grin in his voice. It kept its own expression as neutral as possible, not wanting to portray how shaken it was by Loki’s disturbed behavior. His moods and desires seemed to change with each passing moment, even more so than before. The conflict was bringing out the turmoil and madness within his psyche.

The spirit glanced down at the sceptre, studying its slightly curved length. It was true, it did not know how to call forth the energy to shoot outwards from the orb, but Loki did not know it could absorb the energy rather than expel it. Nor did he know the extent to which it could manipulate the mind-jewel. If the spirit had its way, he never would.

“The Chitauri are soulless creatures, incapable of rational thought or conscience. Why do you fight on their behalf?” it inquired, attempting to pull Loki’s mind away from the area of discussion that seemed to agitate him most. It strove to steady its voice in an effort to draw his attention back toward the invasion, its rapidly beating heart betraying the calm it attempted to emulate.

“I fight _only_ for myself,” mocked his disembodied voice as a sharp pain cut across its midsection. It flinched and stumbled backwards at the unseen strike, the hand not grasping the sceptre immediately covering the wound. “You would do well to remember that when you attempt to solicit clemency on behalf of the mortals.”

With wide eyes, it scanned the empty room as perspiration began to form on its forehead. Loki’s capricious behavior was drawing an intense reaction from its body, and it was becoming more difficult to think clearly and not give in to bodily instincts.

Briefly moving its hand from the tear in its suit, it glanced down to see the alarming contrast of pale skin and bright scarlet on its palm. The expression on its face must have been amusing to the unstable Jotun-Asgardian, as he chuckled darkly at the results of his furtive strike.

“You no longer wish to enslave the peoples of Earth and dominate their planet as you originally intended?” it asked in a voice that trembled against its will. The fear prickling the back of its neck approached an unbearable level as the invisible Jotun-Asgardian hovered somewhere near.

“I will settle for tearing apart the pathetic would-be heroes calling themselves the Avengers. One by one, if I must.” His voice was tinged with an eager anticipation of the clash he hoped to bring about. “As pleasant as this exchange has been, once we are done here, I will make quick, bloody work of your new _friends_.” He spat the last word as if it tasted unpleasantly on his tongue.

The spirit blinked at his assertion of the word, one which he clearly fixed with a negative aspect.

“It does not believe the human warriors view it as a ‘friend’.” The humans had been overly cautious towards the spirit, not affable and accepting. Why would Loki assume such a conflicting idea?

“Oh? You appeared cozy enough with the mortals. I did not realize your nature was so gregarious. Perhaps they will find your obedience pleasing and keep you as a pet.” The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

It could not understand the source of this particular turmoil. The human warriors had shown it no preference, though they had tolerated its presence once it had stated its intentions to aid them. Likewise, it did not wish harm on the humans, but it had had never been under the illusion that they were anything but temporary allies.

Barton-Hawk may have been the possible exception, as they had both undergone unique hardships under Loki’s captivity, but it knew this was not what Loki would wish to hear.

The spirit hesitated before speaking its next words, but once they were formed in its mind, it knew them to be true. But to say the words and incite Loki’s wrath? Was the risk acceptable considering the consequences?

“There is only one who has formed a strong connection with it, though that bond has been neglected and forgotten.”

Its explanation was met with silence. The spirit continued to speak, gripping the sceptre tightly in both hands as it readied for Loki’s reaction.

“If there is any being it could one day call ‘friend’, it had hoped it would be you.”

It heard something it had not expected. A slight hitch in his breathing, a small gasp of breath that was accurate in its location as it had not been voluntarily produced.

Darting its focus to where the noise had been produced, it had enough time to bring up the handle of the sceptre, knocking aside the thin, bladed weapon which flew through the air. It did not have time to react to his dark, towering form materializing back into the visible spectrum of light, nor to the enraged attack that followed.

“ _Do not lie to me, shade!_ ”

Loki roared in unbridled fury as it attempted to bring the sceptre’s unwieldy length up to block him, unable to complete the movement as he tackled it to the ground with the shaft pinned between them. The spirit attempted to throw off the Jotun-Asgardian, but their raw strengths were evenly matched as he pulled it across the debris-strewn floor. The spirit was unable to overpower him and pull away as his wiry muscles wrapped around its smaller form, though it did struggle in near-blinding panic.

Their struggle carried them into the carpeted, lowered dais, Loki moving quickly to subdue the spirit by straddling its stomach, fragments of glass pressing into its back at the oppressive weight. He held the handle of the sceptre against its neck as he viciously pressed down.

He had the advantage of leverage and weight, and it grew frantic as Loki attempted to crush its throat, blood and air unable to reach its brain from the increasing pressure. It kicked in desperation, striking nothing but air with its legs. Loki merely chuckled as a blood-thirsty grin spread across his lips, his teeth bared hungrily.

“That’s it. Fight me with everything you have. I want to see the life as it drains from your eyes, knowing you tried everything in your power to stop me, and _failed_.”

As it pointlessly gasped for air, as it attempted unsuccessfully to unbalance his weight across its midsection, it pulled as much energy from the sceptre as it could, terrified in its overwhelming need to survive.

Loki leaned forward, his lips next to its ear as he hissed, “ _Disappointing_.”

It drank in the boundless force of the mind-jewel, disregarding its previous caution in regards to the artifact in a desperate bid to survive.

Bright, golden, ungraspable power flowered up its palms and into its arms, the unbearable current slamming into its shoulders and coursed across its torso and back. Its spine arched from the sudden influx of energy which could not be entirely contained within its physical form.

Loki shouted as he was thrown from the unseen concussive force, the sound of shattering glass filling its ears. The noises were ignored – the spirit was too occupied by its skin bristling with electrical currents and its muscles roiling with liquid fire to notice what damage had occurred from its panicked attempts at self-preservation.

Attempting to slow its breaths, it opened its eyes and stared at the stone ceiling as its entire body seemed to vibrate. It had not dared to coax so much power from the mind-jewel previously, and it feared it had gone too far this time.

The spirit did not immediately stretch to its full height as it gained its feet. It remained slightly hunched over, feeling almost nauseous from the unexpected overabundance of energy as it panted for air. A sparkling layer of shards was all that remained of Iron Man’s wall of glass, but there was no room for guilt as the vestiges of true anger began to occupy its mind.

The constant apprehension, the fear which had become like a silent companion, the dread at facing the Jotun-Asgardian – these melted away as it glared towards the other occupant of the room.

Loki had only risen to his hands and knees near the center of the space, eyeing the spirit with something that approached caution. He appeared spent of energy, but it would not fall prey to his feint again. He seemed to know this as the infuriatingly arrogant smile returned.

“Well… that is interesting.”

It felt its face fix into a pained expression, lips parted with labored gasps as it held its throbbing neck with one hand.

Leaning against the unsettlingly warm sceptre gripped in its right palm, its chest began to tighten with the unfamiliar emotion of hostility. It was an unsettling, ugly sensation. Searing and red, the hue of molten stone. For the first time in its physical form, it desired physical violence. To strike and tear and maim.

It decided immediately it hated every aspect of this emotion. But that did not change the spirit from feeling the heat rise in its cheeks, nor did it loosen the tight muscles that fixed its jaw into place, making speech more difficult.

“Cease this, Loki.”

The Jotun-Asgardian’s eyebrows perked upwards in response to the inflections of heat in its voice.

“But we have only just started. You cannot stop the third act just as we reach the climax. You will disappoint the audience just as they begin to see what you really _are_.”

The spirit had absolutely no comprehension of what he was speaking. It chose to ignore his tiresome words of deflection and cut through the diversion, having had enough of his twisted amusement at its expense.

It possessed large quantities of empathy for its wayward Jotun-Asgardian, but the spirit was learning even it had limits as to how far it could be pushed before it negatively responded.

“You speak impressive words about the sins of the humans. But it is only an attempt to convince yourself they are deserving of their fate.” It paused, attempting to stop the trembling in its limbs, unable to suppress the vexation from its voice.

The reactions being elicited from its body were growing beyond its control, and the words of anger burst from a place it had never before tread.

“You accuse the humans of being monsters, and perhaps there is truth in that, but your actions are no less monstrous.”

Loki continued to grin at the spirit, but his expression took on a brittle quality.

“I did not ask for your rage, but now that I have it, it is more delectable than I imagined.”

“ _Be silent!_ ” it snapped hotly, eye slightly widening at the aggression in its own voice. Drawing in breath, hoping the increased oxygen would clear the red fog in its mind, it stared at him with a state of exposure it had not felt to this degree previously. “Just… Stop. Speaking.”

Loki watched it closely, his piercing eyes fixated on its face as he remained mercifully quiet, simply listening with his eyebrows creased at the unexpected behavior from the spirit.

“Why did you force me into this useless vessel? You had no need of me to open your portal. There is no purpose to holding me under your control, no logical reason to bind me to your side.” The spirit voiced the questions that had plagued its mind since the beginning, and even though it knew the words would infuriate its captor/rescuer, it could not cease them from being formed.

“Am I a source of amusement? A possession you can speak at when you need to hear your own thoughts reaffirmed?”

Loki’s eyebrows traveled even further up his brow.

“It’s _me_ and _I_ now? Have you finally elevated your status above that of a discarded fruit bowl?”

It attempted to ignore Loki’s words, knowing their purpose was to wound. This was only partially successful as its eyes began to fill with moisture.

The animosity and anger was beginning to transform, evolving into a prickling expansion of pain in its chest. An expression of deep hurt, one which was experienced physically and emotionally. Hurt at his treatment, his disregard, his cruelty.

It was glad for the change. Pain and anguish were far preferable to the toxic fumes it had tasted in the beginning stages of fury. It had felt enmity as a spirit towards the dark tormentor of Loki. But those emotions had been raw, pure, unenhanced by biological chemicals.

Anger in a physical body was far more visceral. Far more potent, savage, and unstable. It was an emotion it never desired to experience again.

“Have none of your words been genuine or true? Do you only know how to coerce and threaten?”

The spirit did not pause to wait for an answer, unable to cease its flood of emotions.

“Why do you claim possession of me one moment and attempt to extinguish my life the next?” Its voice grew more unsteady as the pain in its chest traveled deeper, filling its throat with an ache that stung its eyes.

“I am no freer now than when I was confined in the orb. Perhaps you were correct. Perhaps you should have left me to languish in my prison. Perhaps it would have been preferable to- to this,” it stammered, desperate to communicate its pain while simultaneously understanding its words would not be met with kindness. It was not wrong in its assumption.

“Are you finished?” the Jotun-Asgardian asked dully, his expression disinterested as he regarded the spirit’s shivering form, his hands resting behind his back.

“Why am I here? What do you _want_ from me?” it practically begged of him, voice cracking as it wondered if the agony in its chest would split its form in two. It silently hoped to once, just once, receive an honest, truthful answer. An answer without scorn and derision.

For him to just once treat it like a… person.

The Jotun-Asgardian did not reply for several heavy seconds, and when he did, his gaze focused to its right and pointed towards the golden weapon.

“That. Is what I want from you.”

Its lips trembled as it wondered, “The sceptre? That is all?”

“Not that. _That_ ,” Loki responded curtly, emphatically pointing at what it believed to be the weapon. But he was not indicating the sceptre at all. He was pointing at the hand curled around the golden handle.

Only… it was no longer a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger! Have any guesses about what's happened to Trinity's hand?
> 
> In case you are curious about the origins of the character, I created her in 2000 after watching a certain movie I won't name because it may give away where I mean to go with her. I mean to trek even deeper into Sci-Fi territory, and I hope I can make it as believable as possible.
> 
> And yes, she has always been Trinity Frost. I did not name her after Loki's frosty heritage, but he seems to think so and I will not be the one to break his fragile, little heart.
> 
> On second thought... yeah, I probably will. A lot.


	21. Truth or Consequences?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choose wisely.

It was not possible. There was no reason, understanding, or validity to what the spirit now saw. Its eyes widened in a refusal of acknowledgement at the twisted appendage that now represented its right hand.

A pattern of raised, dark scales slowly crawled down its forearm, shredding the fabric of the suit as it spread towards its elbow like a hungrily festering disease. Pointed, heavily-armored black scales were replacing pale skin. Wickedly curved claws were supplanting fingernails. Rough, dark leather was spreading over its soft, smooth palms.

Jerking away in abject horror, it released the golden apparatus to bounce against the black slated floor. The spreading abruptly stopped, but the deformity of its right hand remained – a jagged black gauntlet molded onto its flesh. It backed away from the sceptre, as if somehow putting distance between it and the weapon would make its flesh return to its previous state.

Loki chuckled softly as he began to move to his left, circling slowly as he fixed the spirit with an expression of triumph.

“What a delightful turn this is,” he remarked smoothly, eyeing the mutated digits of its hand with bright interest. “Who knew such a shocking event like this could possibly occur?” Loki tapped his finger against his chin in a false show of deliberation. “Oh yes, I did.”

The spirit did not respond to this assertion, widened eyes fastened to the horrific mutation of its still-unfamiliar flesh.

Loki continued to speak, apparently having little need of an attentive listener.

“I knew. As soon as the Other trapped you within the orb rather than disperse your energy, which would have been far simpler… I _knew_.”

“What?” it asked in a strangled voice, trying to interpret Loki’s words while simultaneously staring at its armored hand with incomprehension.

“A being who caused the Other so much concern that he would not, or _could_ not, obliterate it? That was something of interest. That was something I needed for my own.”

“This should not be…” it quietly rejected his words, unable to look away from the distorted features of its appendage. “This is wrong.”

“On the contrary, this could not be more _right_. My gambit has finally given me what I have aspired for – you still retain some of the qualities of your former form.”

It finally pulled its eyes from the armored skin of its hand, staring at Loki in disbelief.

“You are mistaken. I possessed no such trait in the time before.”

The spirit’s explanations were met with an amused sneer as the Jotun-Asgardian continued to circle around it.

“Did you always think you were a floating phantasm of disembodied thoughts? Do you know so little of the spirit realm that you are ignorant of the most significant truth of your existence?”

“Your words hold no sense," it managed to reply, its voice wavering from the stress of their encounter. It knew it should not ask for any knowledge he possessed about the bodiless ones, should not feed into more of his deceits and twisted words. There was no truth the spirit should believe while his mind was clearly plagued with darkness.

Instead of addressing the spirit’s confusion, Loki said, “The Chitauri have come… and they will win. The heroes of Earth will fall. And you…”

Loki picked the sceptre off the ground, pointing it directly at the spirit as it froze in alarm, only now realizing they had switched positions within the room.

“You will join me, willingly or not. You are, as they say on Earth, my “insurance policy” if the Other’s master decides to come calling.”

“The… the one with the deafening voice?” it asked incredulously, beginning to slowly pace backwards from the Jotun-Asgardian and his bladed weapon. What did Loki think it could possibly do against the owner of that terrible laughter?

“Just so,” he replied, his grin a little too tight. “Let’s see how extensive your skills are, shall we?” Loki inquired with false courtesy before leaping at the spirit, swinging the sceptre down in an arch above his head as he descended like a winged predator, emerald cape flaring behind him like unfolded wings.

Reacting without conscious thought, it raised its taloned hand and caught the blade in its claws, sparks flying from the hard friction between metal and organic material. The force of Loki’s attack drove it backwards, boots skidding across the sleek floor as it braced its legs under the violence of the blow. The edge of the blades dug into its gnarled hand but could not penetrate the armor. The azure orb glowed with an eager, sinister glow, as if yearning to bite its flesh.

Loki jerked the blades out from between its talons and flipped the sceptre around, jamming the butt of the weapon into its stomach, knocking the wind from its diaphragm. Gasping for breath, it scrambled backwards, tripping over a set of short stairs as it attempted to gain distance from the aggressive Jotun-Asgardian.

The eager taste for blood was given to the sceptre as the blade flashed forward, slicing the back of its thigh as it tried to regain its feet. The spirit gave a startled cry as it stumbled again, limping in desperation as a sensation of fire traveled along the flesh of its leg.

It did not scurry far before the Jotun-Asgardian stood before it, grabbing it by the neck and twisting it around to shove its back onto the waist-high counter of the bar, his fingers digging cruelly into the soft flesh of its throat. He pinned it to the hard surface with the length of his body and began to squeeze.

Lashing out, it kicked him hard in the lower region of his abdomen, causing him to double over with an expression of agony on his face. It barely had time to pull in a breath when he pointed the sceptre forward, and it dove over the counter to avoid the blast. The blue bolt slammed into the bottles directly above it, showering it in glass and foul-smelling brown liquid. It covered its head with its gauntleted arm, protecting its head from the falling shards.

Loki rounded the corner of the counter with sceptre gripped tightly in hand, only to be met by a heavy, still-intact glass bottle hurtling toward his head. He just had time to move aside out of its path before the desperate spirit tackled him around the middle, the wound in its leg almost forgotten as the adrenaline fueled its frantic attempts at survival.

Loki’s back slammed into the ground, its shoulder digging into his chest as its weight crashed onto him, causing him to give a strangled cry and loosen his hold on the sceptre – enough for it to wrench it free from his grasp.

The spirit continued to travel from its momentum, rolling across the floor with the golden weapon, rotating its body onto its feet and whipping the sceptre around to aim at the ground where he lay prone.

The Jotun-Asgardian was already standing, and he brought his booted heel down near the base of the blade, attempting to knock it loose from the spirit’s grip. It refused to relinquish its hold, and the blade struck the ground with considerable force, the stone floor shattering under the impact as stone sparks and dust flew into the air.

Loki laughed in delight as the spirit drew the weapon sideways, attempting to swipe at his legs with the shaft in order to bring him to the ground once more.

He merely stepped backwards, farther than the sceptre’s length would allow, and danced out of the reach of the weapon as it attempted to strike down at him again.

Until now, the spirit had remained defensive and protective of its physical integrity, but the heat of anger had returned once more, feeding the part of itself that desired to cause pain in return.

“You have extraordinary strength, I grant you that, but you are laughably _sluggish_. Do not be so timid – I will not break if you become rough with me.”

It began to grow frustrated as he continued to deftly dodge and maneuver gracefully out of range from every blow the spirit attempted to land. It knew somewhere, in the back of its thoughts, that it was doing everything Loki desired. He was distracting it from the true threat, and with each passing moment, that threat grew at an alarming rate.

It knew this, logically, and yet it could not stop its offense. Loki’s teasing and taunting had stimulated the aggression of its body, and it desired nothing more than to squeeze his neck between its tapered talons.

Something blurred out of the side of its vision, and it had not realized Loki had moved to its side until it was falling onto its stomach, his foot having wedged between its moving ankles.

“Come now, Trinity. You can do better than this,” Loki chided as it attempted to push up from the floor, a heavy weight pressing down on the small of its back preventing this action.

It glared over its shoulder from the vantage point on the ground to see Loki pushing his boot against its spine. He noted the expression on its face and smirked. “You’re not wroth with me about the ‘cheap parlor tricks’ jab, are you? Goodness, spirits are sensitive.”

The pressure increased along its lower back, and it squirmed against the unyielding weight, afraid he meant to snap its spine. “I did not truly mean it. Your displays of strength have been most impressive, if a bit… unrefined.”

The spirit turned its face away from his cruel smile, wrapping its black appendage around the golden handle tightly, releasing an unsteady breath as it felt the segments of its spine rub together from the painful pressure. “I especially enjoyed when you destroyed a significant portion of Stark’s acropolis-“

Loki halted in his speech, his eyebrows drawn together as he looked down at the space the spirit had previously occupied, mystified to find it empty. His perplexed expression did not last for long, and it was replaced by a grin.

“You misbehaving, cheeky little thing. Stealing tactics from your master? I did not raise you to be a thief, young lady,” Loki remarked mischievously, attempting to goad it into speaking, as it had tricked him when their roles had been reversed.

“Mmmm. Except you’re not quite a lady, are you? That’s the question of the day. What _is_ Trinity Frost?

Unlike Loki, the spirit did not mind being silent. It focused its thoughts very carefully, using the complex powers of the mind-jewel to stay unnoticed by his perceptions. The deceit was so strong that he had not known it had remained trapped under his foot, released when he had removed his heel.

“Ghost? Ghoul? Beast? Benevolent being? So many possibilities, all of them tantalizing in their own right.” Loki smirked in delight, his humor unhampered by the disappearance of the spirit, his expression devoid of any sort of concern.

“You cannot hide forever, Trinity. The longer you draw on the powers of the orb, the more twisted your form will become.”

The mention of its sudden deformity caused it to look down at the taloned hand, the tips hooked and deadly sharp, the black scales upturned and even in their pattern along its forearm.

“Of course, if you want to see what happens when those abominable scales completely consume your body, I could hardly blame you. I am fairly curious to see the transition myself.”

Loki laughed harshly as he held out his arms to the empty space of the room, as if inviting it to partake in the madness with him.

“What say you, wisp? Attempt to overpower me as you are now, or wait until you are an unrecognizable _monster_?”

It did not respond, holding the hateful instrument as far from its body as it could, shivering as it attempted to quiet its breathing and retreat toward the door which led to the rooftop. It had been distracted for too long by the Jotun-Asgardian’s poisonous amusement, and he was most likely correct in his assumption that the affliction of its arm would continue to grow the longer it held onto the golden apparatus. Though how the instrument was able to inflict such a horrible condition upon its body, it had no idea.

“Tick-tock, Trinity. Tick-tock.”

The spirit continued to ignore his taunts, its feet slowly traversing the debris-strewn floor as it kept a vigilant eye on the unhinged Jotun-Asgardian.

“Surely it’s been eating away at you, the question of your origins. The strange stares the mortals give you, the way their tiny minds can only perceive your harmless exterior but their baser instincts can sense your difference. Your misplacement. Your inner… abnormality.” Loki gave a slow grin, growling the last word as his pale eyes followed something along the floor.

“They can smell it on you, like a wolf guised in the skin of a sheep.”

Glancing towards the ground, it witnessed a thin trail of crimson liquid leading along the ashy floor and ended at the heel of its footwear – originating from the wound crossing the back of its thigh.

Its widened eyes flashed upwards to find Loki staring back, his grin vanishing as his pale eyes blazed with malice.

The spirit was unable to react as the sphere of green fire formed in Loki’s hand, his teeth gritted in a wordless cry as he sent the ball of emerald flames directly where it stood frozen in fright.

The spirit held its heavily scaled forearm in front of its body like a shield. The energy blast exploded against its arm and sent it rocketing through the air, crunching into the wall as the sceptre was once against lost from its grasp, the concealment broken as it collapsed to the ground.

Struggling to recover from the overwhelming attack, it pushed onto its hands and knees, its armored arm smoking and smoldering with flickers of green fire. The heat was unsettling, and there was a sharp stench from the heated material, but otherwise, the only pain it felt was from colliding with the interior of the tower.

Two black boots entered its lowered field of vision, scuffed and marred from battle. Its eyes trailed up the lanky, imposing body, its own form frozen as the deadly curve of the silver blade glittered meanly in front of its eyes, the tip hovering somewhere near its ear.

The sceptre was forced from its thoughts as Loki grabbed it by the hair, lifting the spirit to its feet and slamming it against the wall. The sceptre did not reenter its field of vision – instead it felt the cold, bitter blade of the weapon lightly press against the vulnerable flesh of its throat. He did not release its hair, forcing its head to remain still and fixed on him as it regarded him with frightened exhaustion.

They both gasped for breath, their bodies covered in dust and ash. Loki appeared just as fatigued, his grip on the sceptre trembling, as if the fiery energy he had conjured had cost him much.

Loki’s body may have been drained, but the manic light blazed as brightly as ever from his eyes, and it feared it was too late to appeal to what remained of his sanity. Much too late.

It tried for one last, final plea. Every passing moment it spent attempting to reason with Loki was another moment given to the Chitauri to bring their shock troops through – but it had to try. If it stopped trying to reach through to him, if it abandoned Loki to his fate, then it would have to finally admit that everything it had done since finding him adrift in the void had been in vain.

It would have to admit that it never should have resuscitated him. It would have to face the undeniable truth that it should have extinguished his life before he could become the twisted, broken person it saw now.

A mercy-killing.

“Please… the portal must be closed,” it gasped through ragged breaths, the skin of its neck uncomfortably tight against the biting edge of the blade.

“Even now, you seek to betray me,” Loki growled, his lips crinkling back like that of a snarling animal.

“I never betrayed you,” it denied with a grunt of pain as the grip on its hair tightened.

“Never… never betrayed me?!” he questioned in a voice bordering on hysteria. “You left me, _abandoned_ me, in the jaws of those beasts! You left… and I…” His voice cracked with emotional and physical strain, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. “I suffered, greatly. Forgotten. Alone.”

It was impossible to discern who was more surprised at his words. The spirit had expected accusations of treachery for surrendering to the humans – not for failing to save him in the dark place.

Loki’s unintended confession made him appear both confused and extremely fearful, his pupils dilating as his body responded to the sudden anxiety.

Did Loki truly believe the spirit had intentionally left his side? Did he truly not understand it would have never let him remain within the power of his tormentor if it had had a choice? It needed to communicate to him that this was so – it could not bear another moment of Loki believing the falsehoods in his mind. It was more than the spirit could accept.

“I did not forsake you. I did not leave of my own accord. My actions may have been insufficient, but… my concern for you has never been relinquished.” The spirit studied his expression, pleading for him to understand, for him to hold on to that remnant of lucidity that must still remain within him.

It felt dissatisfied with its staggering, awkward words. Cautiously, gradually, it lifted its hand, the one which still remained unmarred and whole, and gently placed it across his fingers which still braced the sceptre’s blade against its throat.

“I am here. For you,” it quietly spoke, its fingers slightly curling around his. “Trust that these words are true.”

Loki seemed unprepared for the light, warm touch on his hand. His gaze flickered, unsure, indecisive. The spirit used the opportunity to incrementally guide the blade away from its throat, watching his expression as the Jotun-Asgardian remained shaky and hesitant. It held his gaze, willing him to see that its intentions could be believed. That it had only wished to protect him. That it had not forgotten their bonding in the blackest reach of the void, even when he did not remember.

Something dark flickered in those pale blue eyes. Even while they remained wide and lost, the deceit formed inside of them.

“Truth… Such a subjective concept, isn’t it?” Loki whispered in a soft voice as he gave the spirit a gentle look – a gesture all the more painful by his inevitable betrayal.

Loki’s expression hardened in the second before he viciously yanked on the locks of its hair, forcing its head back to expose its neck as he attempted to slice the blade across its flesh.

The spirit’s unmarred hand – which had been resting lightly across his fingers – now gripped his knuckles tightly as its palm braced against the metal shaft, halting the lethal strike with strength that came from within rather than from the cursed instrument itself.

In the same moment, it struck forward with its monstrous hand and gripped his head tightly, pressing its rough palm against his brow as Loki roared in unfettered hatred.

The spirit did what it had sworn not to do, and it speared straight through into Loki’s mind, drawing on the intended purpose of the mind-jewel as it felt a white-hot pain stab into the fleshy area between its neck and left shoulder.

The spirit immediately seized onto the dark thread it discovered in his mind, and once it traveled down the connective tether, it was in a place both unknown and unnervingly familiar.


	22. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark spaces and black places.

The spirit stood on the surface of a dark, meteorite landscape – rotating fragments of rock floating freely through space as distant novae and starfields shown through the eternal night. Interpreting the desiccated landscape through the physical brain it now possessed was a shock compared to the way it had observed the location as a form of energy.

A strange, eerie cobalt glow seemed to illuminate the landscape from an unknown source, and the spirit wondered if everything unpleasant in the universe shone with a blue shade.

It took stock of its bodily integrity, and though it had felt a stabbing agony in its shoulder a few seconds prior, there was no damage it could identify. It held the sceptre in its hand, both of which were now pale and smooth. The orb glowed with the same menacing light as the barren surroundings, but Loki was nowhere to be seen.

It was alone, or so it believed until its eyes focused on a strangely shaped rock formation that twisted upwards onto a distant platform. A robed figure stood at its base while watching the spirit, his pale, chitinous chest, hands, and lower jaw glowing in the twilight.

The spirit cautiously approached the figure as it held the sceptre across its torso, attempting to ignore the twisting in its stomach as it recognized the other presence.

Hideous, mutated, grotesque. This was the horror that had tormented Loki, drawing forth his cries of misery and agony. Many of its bodiless recollections had a fuzzy quality to them, but the memories of this place and this creature was held with perfect clarity.

As the spirit drew closer, the alienoid frowned. Or it interpreted his pale maw turning downwards as an expression of displeasure.

“What is this? How has a human come to possess our sceptre?”

The bizarre, twisted alien words coming from his mouth were easily translated using the acumen of the mind-jewel. The spirit responded in the humans’ English language – not wishing the foul entity to realize just how adept it was at wielding the golden apparatus.

“Release your hold on the Jotun-Asgardian.”

The Other slowly shaped his mouth into a grin, revealing bleeding gums and dark teeth through the cage around his mouth. He gave his response in the human language, his pale tongue somehow not being shredded by his jagged teeth.

“But he is such a useful servant. Petty and small-minded, perhaps, but useful nonetheless. And so wonderfully _obedient_ ,” he intoned with a greedy curling of his mouth.

_He was a useful tool, and now his time of usefulness has passed_. Loki’s words whispered in its mind, a reflection of the treatment he himself had endured.

The spirit began to experience another odd emotion. It retained the heat of anger, but it was of a different category. The thought of this creature abusing Loki, toying with his mind and playing with his will as if he were of no consequence, it made the spirit clench its jaw as a slowly burning emotion smoldered within its chest cavity.

It wanted to harm the robed figure very much – a disturbing sensation that made it feel almost sick with its intensity.

“You respond as if I present a question,” it replied coldly, recalling with no small amount of pleasure the way it had felt to burn the dark alien through his torso. The deeply angered part of itself wished the alien knew its identity. Here stood the spirit he had remanded – returned to seek out liberation on behalf of another.

That was indeed its purpose for having followed the dark tether in Loki’s mind, but the temptation to exact revenge for all the harm this alienoid had caused was difficult to ignore.

“And what will you do if we do not accede to your… request?” he responded, hissing through black teeth as the corners of his mouth curled upwards.

The spirit pointed the sceptre at the hooded figure, the blue orb beginning to thrum with eager energy.

The alien chuckled with ill-natured humor.

“Stupid human female. You are not physically here, you cannot-“

He did not finish his statement as a screech was torn from his pale mouth, an azure bolt of fiery energy exploded into the pockmarked rock next to his hooded head.

Unbeknownst to the sneering alien, golden tendrils of unseen energy had snaked through the air from the orb, briefly cradling his skull as it created a false experience of near-death. The spirit had even replicated the acrid stench of burning fabric, evident by the way the alien beat at the false illusion of his smoking hood.

The Other had been correct – its body was not present in the dark place of cold rock and sinister light. Its mind had been displaced, not unlike what Loki had done to the spirit on the Quinjet after their capture. It had realized soon after its arrival that only its consciousness had been brought forward, and its body most likely still remained on Earth. It could only assume the mind-jewel was responsible for drawing it here, to the source of the dark influence in Loki’s consciousness.

And even if it had been physically present, it did not in actuality know how to call forth the blue fire that Loki was able to coax from the sceptre. But the Other did not know this, and the spirit used his limited perceptions against him.

“We are done speaking. Release Loki. _Now_.”

The fierce heat of ire kindled in its chest, and it had no need for false confidence. Anger served just as effectively.

The Other, once he had dusted the illusionary debris from his black robes, scowled at the spirit, a hiss slithering past his thin lips.

“Irreverent, unclean primate. Suckling on the power which is beyond her paltry comprehension. Believing herself to be so clever and keen.” The Other gnashed his teeth, shrieking acidic words which grated against its ears. “ _Blasphemy! Sacrilege!_ _You have sealed your fate by touching what is ours_!”

The spirit leveled the tip of the blades towards his chest, its heart accelerating as his words began to form prickles of anxiety down its spine. The probability of the robed tormentor releasing Loki was decreasing with each exchange of hostile dialogue. And despite its enmity towards the robed creature, it did experience discomfort at the idea of fully taking control of his mind and will.

But it would do what was required. It had plunged too deeply to accept anything less than Loki’s total absolution.

“I did not come for empty threats. If you do not-“

“Empty? You believe our threats… _empty_?” The Other interrupted as he smiled with black mirth, his teeth a latticework of iron spikes.

A low, even, ominous thudding noise rumbled up its legs and seemed to reverberate throughout its bones, though how that was possible, the spirit did not know. The Other’s grin widened with cruel glee.

**_Thud. Thud. Thud._ **

Its eyes slightly widened at the unexpected intrusion, drawing the sceptre closer to the illusion of its chest as it realized the sound was emanating from the odd rock formation behind the Other, now clearly a faintly-illuminated stairwell. The alien’s grin grew into sickly proportions at each reverberation through the stone.

**_Thud. Thud. Thud._ **

The thunderous footsteps continued as a brutishly large figure made his way to the landing, golden armor adorning his menacing, intimidating frame. It had thought Loki’s silhouette had been imposing, but it was nothing compared to the shadow cast by this hulking figure.

Each stride forward carried enormous weight and confidence, eerie light illuminating the monster’s face from impossible angles. His skin was lavender, the color of poisonous intent, and his eyes shone with the same eerie blue as the surroundings and the orb of the sceptre.

It did not know when it had decided to retreat, but its feet had begun to carry it backwards of their own volition. Its previous anger had vanished as its traitorous body embraced the wrappings of terror. The spirit was unable to move its gaze away from the armored predator, and all semblances of confidence and conviction fled like particles of dust before a solar wind.

**“I see you, little ghost,”** his deep, baleful voice intoned, his words comprehensive to the spirit now that it had a physical body. Comprehension of his words did not bring any less terror to the spirit. If anything, its fear was deeply intensified by being able to interpret his words, especially knowing it was the subject of them.

It stumbled over its own feet as it continued to retreat, its throat tightening as it approached the metaphorical cliff which would tip it into the precipice of hysteria, as well as an actual cliff that would send its mind spinning into open space.

His terrible words vibrated through the air again, demanding the spirit’s horror with its timbre.

**“I. See. You.”**

Even though its consciousness had left its body in a dire situation, and it was unknown whether or not it had a living form to return to, perishing at Loki’s hands was far preferable to facing the living nightmare slowly descending on its terrified consciousness.

The spirit squeezed its eyes shut and focused its thoughts on returning to its body, its illusionary form tightly gripping the image of the sceptre. It could hear the monster chuckling as his thunderous footsteps continued to grow in volume, the ground underneath its feet vibrating alarmingly as the noise thudded painfully against its inner ear.

It could not focus. It could barely imagine what its body had even looked like, and terror colored all of its thoughts as the panic reached an unbearable level. It was going to die here – worse, it was going to have its consciousness torn apart and scattered to the darkness. The monster clearly knew what it was, and he would not allow it to escape a second time.

The panic, the fear, the dread of knowing its death was close, it caused the spirit to want to shrivel in on itself and wait for the end. Instead, it silently cried for help from the one entity it desperately needed more than any other.

_Loki!_

Whether he heard its silent cries or had any awareness of where it was, it did not know. But the spirit was seized in a terrible grip, forcefully pulled down the dark thread which connected Loki’s mind to the nightmare landscape. Still possessing the acumen of the mind-jewel, it severed the connection as it was yanked back to its version of reality. It did not know if this would free or kill Loki, but the haunting laughter vibrating throughout its mind served as a reminder that there were things much worse than death.

It knew the moment its mind had been thrown back into its body because the tip of the real sceptre’s blade hooked into its flesh and scraped across its collarbone, causing it to scream in agony. Nauseating pain consumed its mind as it slid down the wall, covering its howling shoulder with a scaly, armored hand as it struggled to understand what had happened.

The spirit had released the sceptre immediately, and surprisingly, it had clattered to the floor. Loki, for whatever reason, had relinquished his hold on the weapon.

A throbbing haze clouded its vision as it rested the back of its head against the wall, able to see Loki staring down at it in a state of shock, his features dazed and pale. He did not reach for the sceptre at his feet, seemingly forgotten, crimson liquid dripping from the blade onto the dust-covered floor.

Despite the overwhelming sensations coming from the damaged flesh, and the residual traces of terror left smoldering in its mind, it observed Loki’s state to the best of its ability, concerned with how the mental intrusion had affected him.

For the first time in its short existence, the spirit believed it had done something correctly. Loki’s eyes were tear-filled and horrified, but they were his own. The mad light seemed to have fled their depths, as well as all traces of malevolence and cruelty, though he did appear as if he might be ill.

“What… what did you…” Loki choked out in a strangled voice, his lips trembling as he stared at it with an expression almost too painful to observe.

The spirit could not answer immediately, the pain radiating from between its shoulder and neck demanding all of its concentration. This was the most damage it had experienced during the time in its new body, and it took all of its willpower to push past the bright agony to speak the words it needed him to hear.

“Your bonds have been cut and the dark passage in your mind was collapsed.” Loki only stared at the spirit uncomprehendingly, and it drew a breath to add, “Your will should be your own, now.”

It had expected him to appear joyous, or at least content and relieved. Not the confused, overwhelmed expression which was fixed onto his features. Should he not be glad to be free of the foul influence that drove him to such extremes?

It could not wonder for long as it was too woozy to do anything but shut its eyes and tilt its head back against the cool, brick wall, waiting for its vision to return to its previous non-spinning state.

At least it could not feel the sticky liquid of its own blood through the rough armor which covered its hand. It could not feel much of anything through the thick layer of black scales as its monstrous hand attempted to slow the bleeding.

Subtle warmth came from the left side of its body, and it opened its eyes to see Loki kneeling close, a long-fingered hand wrapped lightly around its hardened, pointed knuckles. He did not seem adverse or disturbed by its armored flesh, and it was suddenly concerned he would cut himself on the sharp edges of its plated skin.

The spirit searched his eyes cautiously, but the shadows which had continually haunted his face had truly vanished. The spirit relaxed its tensed muscles and allowed him to move its scaled hand away from the weeping wound.

The Jotun-Asgardian visibly paled as he saw the damage the blade had caused, his graceful fingers carefully pulling back the torn fabric of its uniform in order to examine the wound more clearly. It observed the guilt and distress easily upon his face as he did not attempt to hide his emotions with masks of poise and control. The nakedness of his expression was unexpected but not… unpleasant.

Despite the significant damage he had inflicted on its body, it did not condemn him for such actions. Not after the unspeakable experience of confronting the armored giant. The terror it had felt merely being in the presence of the lavender monster caused it to have fresh concern and worry for what Loki had endured and how it would affect him in the future.

Before, it had only caught a glimpse of the torture the Other had inflicted on Loki while it had been a disembodied spirit. It had not fully understood, _could_ not understand without a mortal shell of its own. Everything he had done while under their influence, all the destruction and death and terror, the threats and the intimidation – it would never blame him.

Never.

“I… I am so…” he began, but his voice cracked too harshly for him to continue.

“Do not apologize,” it responded weakly, attempting to meet his eye despite the burn radiating from its wound, wanting to show him there was nothing to forgive.

His expression was bared and vulnerable, and it saw a glimpse of the person he might have been before the monsters had lain hands on him. It could easily imagine him untainted and filled with light, still possessing hope for the future – the shadows which would someday haunt his steps still far away.

Loki parted his lips and appeared as if he were about to speak, but nothing was said. He remained silent as he fixed his pale eyes on its face, something powerfully indescribable residing behind the firm gaze.

The spirit did not mind the intimacy of the eye contact – it preferred to experience emotions without the barriers and confusion of spoken language. This form of uninhibited communication between physical forms was authentic, honest, and made harboring lies and deceit more difficult. It exposed the true nature of the soul, even enveloped in the opaqueness of the flesh.

It was this intense but silent exchange that caused the spirit to see something it had not noticed before. It had viewed the Jotun-Asgardian as a wayward creature to protect – from his tormentors and from himself. He had been a lost, abandoned soul it had been unable to turn away from, twisted and torn by pain unending. It now realized this was an obscure, incomplete picture of who Loki was and what he represented.

By the expression on his face, it suspected Loki was also awakening to the realization that the spirit was something other than a tool to be used and discarded for whatever machinations he had formed in his mind.

They truly _saw_ each other for what they were and not what they had been perceived to be.

But… what did it _mean_?

Their intense connection was broken as a booming crash came from the open area of the lounge. Loki’s head jerked towards the sound, his eyes widening in sudden fear at what he saw. Loki turned back and quickly scooped the spirit into its arms and dashed around the corner towards the stairwell, blocking its view of the room. It clenched its jaw to stifle the cry of pain as its torn shoulder was jostled, its world becoming quieter and the lights shimmering as its head felt strangely weightless.

Loki set the spirit on the floor near the stairs, hiding it from sight of whatever had entered the building, and it heard a snuffling, growling noise coming from where the crash had originated.

“Do not move or make a sound. No matter what you hear. Do you understand?” he spoke in a hushed whisper, his eyes pleading urgently. It was not a demand or a threat. He was asking a question as if he expected a reply.

“Yes,” it responded weakly, not quite sure if Loki had heard its softened voice, but he quickly rushed around the corner and out of sight.

A deafening roar startled it from the fuzzy fog trying to envelope its mind, causing it to breathe unevenly as it felt the sharp stab of panic. Had the purple-skinned nightmare followed it across the folds of the universe to drag it back to the dark place?

But then it heard Loki’s returning shouts of defiance. It heard the threats and the malice in his voice, and it almost believed him when he mimicked his previous maniacal personality and venomous words of enmity.

“ _Enough!_ You are, all of you, beneath me! I am a god, you dull creature! And I will not be bullied by- Ah!“

Loki’s boisterous monologue was interrupted by a startled noise, followed by several loud crashes.

Fearing what had happened, it staggered upright and hissed through its teeth at the silent screams of its wound. The spirit ignored its enflamed nerves as it leaned against the wall, dragging itself forward until it reached the end of the wall. Cautiously glimpsing around the corner, it saw the giant, green muscled monster from the Helicarrier walk out of view, his massive feet making the floor shake with each step as he muttered “Puny god.”

The spirit waited until it could no longer feet the rumbling vibrations of the beast’s weighty footsteps before it limped across the floor towards the prone figure partially sunk into the floor. The hulking creature had pounded Loki into the ground with aggressive abandon as evident by the depression formed by his body and the surrounding debris.

The spirit sank to its knees, breath caught in its throat as something tightened around its chest.

_No. You cannot be... I refuse it._

“Loki?” it voiced fearfully, reaching toward him with its unchanged hand, pausing as it was unused to initiating physical contact. Pushing through its hesitancy, it softly touched his chest. There was no response, but his torso did move rhythmically up and down to draw in shallow pulls of air. His pale eyes remained open and blank, staring at the ceiling with an absence of awareness.

A rush of some unnamable emotion flooded its body as it released the shaky breath it had been holding, the tightness in its chest easing only to appear around its throat.

Human emotions, it was finding, tended to sabotage its ability to act and think clearly, rather than lend any sort of actual benefit to a given situation.

But the irritation it was experiencing from the reactions of its physical body was overwhelmed by the relief that Loki still lived. He did not look particularly healthy, and the spirit wished it had not thrown away the communication device it had been given. It did not know if the warriors would give aid to their conquered foe, but it did not know how else to help him.

It was reminded of the continuing onslaught of the human metropolis as a pack of fliers shot past the opening in the structure, almost one entire side of the room now open to the air as glass lay glittering on the floor.

Wide eyes returned to trace along his face, and it studied the features of its no-longer-wayward Jotun-Asgardian. Unwilling to leave but unable to stay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Did you see that coming? Does it make sense? I hope things become more clear towards the end (and that the odd workings of my mind aren't too ridiculous). We have only have two chapters left!
> 
> Also, holy-crap-Thanos.


	23. Aperture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The portal remains open as the Chitauri continue to desecrate New York City, and the spirit is presented with limited options.

The spirit remained completely stationary, even after its knees had begun to ache from the constant pressure of skin and bone against the hard ground, its battered suit offering minimal padding.

One pale hand remained against the Jotun-Asgardian's chest, confirming that it still rose and fell with even precision. But the blank, slightly shocked look on his face remained, various injuries marking his features.

Loki did not stir, and the battle outside was growing more frantic and violent. Black smoke covered more regions of the metropolis, and despite its hopes the humans had found a way to seal the portal, it assumed they had failed to do so.

"Jarvis?" it inquired to the air, hoping to hear a response from the disembodied entity which had attempted to guide the spirit earlier.

"I am here, Ms. Frost," he responded cheerfully despite the battle that had taken place within the tower and the wanton destruction beyond its walls.

"Is there anything here that will help… help Loki recover?" the spirit asked, wondering if the creation of Loki's enemy would deny him aid and allow him to suffer. Or worse, call on the human warriors to end his life.

"I have informed Mr. Stark of the criminal's status, but I am afraid he and the others are preoccupied by the Asgardian's invasion forces." Jarvis' voice remained polite, but it sensed a hint of disapproval. "I am sure they will arrive when they are able."

"And then? What will they do to him?" the spirit prodded, wanting to make certain that he would not be further harmed by the humans Loki had referred to as Avengers.

"They will take him into SHIELD custody, most likely. From there, I cannot say, but I imagine he will stand trial for his crimes."

The spirit stared down at Loki's prone figure, dissatisfied with the answer. Its eyes roamed toward the sceptre, and it felt the temptation stir in its thoughts. It could take possession of the golden apparatus and drag Loki away before the human warriors arrived…

But of course, that left the portal wide open, allowing the Chitauri to pour through onto the populace below. And if it could somehow awaken Loki, there was no guarantee he would know how to close the portal, or if he would even be willing to do so. The spirit had no inkling how deep his dislike for the humans ran, or if it was solely a product of his corrupted will.

Its other option was to attempt to close the portal on its own, which was also without guarantee of success.

_You must try. You promised the humans you would._

Pressing its lips together, the spirit removed its hand from Loki's chest as it slowly climbed to its feet, swaying precariously as the blood rushed from its head. It took a steadying breath and took one final look down at the Jotun-Asgardian.

_I made a promise to you as well, and I intend to keep it._

"Jarvis?" it questioned again as it turned from where Loki lay, beginning its slow, limping journey towards the back portion of the tower.

"Yes, Ms. Frost?" answered the pleasant voice from the air.

"You witnessed the events that took place between Loki and I, correct?" As it spoke, it checked its shoulder wound to find if it was still weeping (it was), and it walked in a curving line towards the back exit to the main room, struggling to move in a straight path.

"Of course."

"Must you speak of it to the others?" it inquired, thinking back to the vicious battle between the spirit and the deranged Loki, along with the murderous threats, disturbing taunts, and violent brutality.

"All occurrences on Stark Industries' premises are automatically recorded and held for a period of eight years. I am required to report all instances of import to Mr. Stark."

"I… see."

"If it eases your worries, the last few minutes of recorded footage may possibly aid in the Asgardian's judgement if it is entered into evidence after his incarceration."

"Incarceration?" It had not cast its thoughts that far ahead, what possible punishment Loki might face. Of course, none of that would matter if the gateway remained open and the Chitauri brought war to the entire planet.

"Yes, Ms. Frost. Loki of Asgard has committed several felonies as well as a dozen misdemeanors, along with numerous war crimes against humanity."

"His actions were not his own," the spirit objected. But how to explain Loki's exploitation by a foul, nightmarish being that could not be described by any words in its vocabulary?

"As you say, Ms. Frost."

It noted the program's slightly mollifying tone and paused before it opened the door to the back balcony, tucked away out of sight.

"And you will tell the Iron Man about my... affliction?" it inquired, unsure as to how to quantify the dark scales covering its right hand and forearm.

"I am unable to omit any information from Mr. Stark." Jarvis paused, and there was something unknown laced within his tone as he spoke. "Even if I wished to do so. It is in my programming."

"I understand." There was no avoiding the inevitable, then. The humans would know, soon, what it was. Or rather, what it was not. It was one thing for Barton to tell them it had been a spirit-made-corporeal. It was quite another to be faced with whatever _this_ was – its foreignness made plain for all to witness. The spirit had no idea as to the cause of the mutation, and if Loki truly did know what was happening, he might never get a chance to explain.

The spirit grit its teeth as it pulled open the glass door, buffeted by the wind which threatened to push it back inside. It looked skyward, screaming Chitauri flying past as they descended from the gaping hole in the atmosphere.

"Is there another route to the machine?" it asked as its eyes fell upon the vertical series of metal rungs that were sealed to the side of the tower. It could not imagine how it was going to be able to climb them with its damaged left shoulder.

"I am afraid not. Mr. Stark has been alerted to the fact that you also require medical assistance, if you should choose to wait," Jarvis' disembodied voice replied, even though it was now outside of the building.

"Too much time has passed – I cannot delay," it confessed. Taking a deep breath and mustering all of the courage and determination that still remained within, it began to climb.

Its left arm was completely useless, and it held the limb curled against its stomach as it began to climb using only its feet and its scaly arm. Grudgingly, it was grateful to the strength which its deformed hand seemed to possess, allowing it to ascend with little difficulty with only half of its upper body strength available.

Between its monstrous arm and the tubular metal cage which surrounded the ladder, it was unconcerned the wind would dislodge it. The true concern came from the Chitauri fliers, as it was incredibly exposed and vulnerable to attack should they glance in its direction.

Fortunately, the aliens took no notice of the spirit, and it arrived at the roof without incident, though it frowned as it saw two other sets of ladders to climb before it could reach the topmost level.

As it climbed the last ladder, its skin pale and cold from exhaustion and pain, it gripped the edge of the roof with its blackened claw and pulled itself upwards, directly into the barrel of a firearm.

It paused, stomach pressed against the edge of the roof as it looked past the black weapon to the female who held it. Agent Romanoff's startled eyes glanced between its face to the blackened gauntlet that now represented its right limb.

"Frost?" she questioned alarmingly, her pale expression watching with growing suspicion.

"Yes," it responded, its face scrunched from the strain of the awkward position and the ever-present bright pain from its wound.

"Uh. Right," the agent responded, holstering her weapon as she reached forward, assisting the spirit onto the roof once she noticed the bleeding gash in its shoulder. "Barton mentioned you were in trouble when Loki attacked and knocked you from the tower. He sent Banner to help."

"The massive… green creature?" it asked as it panted unevenly. "His assistance was not warranted. Loki prevented my fall – he did not attack me."

"That's not the way Barton tells it," Romanoff replied, slightly tilting her head as she gave the spirit an odd look.

"Loki was… confused. But the situation had resolved itself, until this Banner interfered and greatly harmed him," it responded wearily.

"That was kind of the point of sending our guy," Romanoff replied with a shrug, and it narrowed its eyes as protectiveness over Loki expressed itself.

The female SHIELD agent raised an eyebrow, and the spirit looked away before it could turn the conversation into a confrontation. It did not wish to argue with the human, especially since she was the one who had debated on its behalf. But her callous words began to fill its chest with the anger that seemed to appear so readily since its hand had transformed.

Its sight was automatically drawn to the bronze and silver machine which was the source of the azure portal, eyes drinking in the shimmering stream of power flowing into the sky. The incredible sight was enough to cool the teeming heat just below its skin.

The stream of luminous light poured into the sky, creating a disconcerting effect. The skyward portal appeared similar to a massive human eye. The swirling edges of the portal were its throbbing azure iris, the slowly rotating clouds the white of the eye, and the black pupil was splattered with tiny stars in another facet of the universe.

This powerful image held the spirit in its thrall. It was an elegant, beautiful sight, but it did not say this out loud. It doubted the humans would share its viewpoint, and it had given them reason enough to reject the spirit for its oddness.

The machine was connected to several thick cables trailing from various ports in the building, as well as a computing device propped on a stand.

"Frost. What _actually_ happened with Loki? Why is your hand in that condition?"

"I do not know how to elaborate or explain this… anomaly. And as I said, the situation is resolved and Loki should now be purified of foreign influence," it responded vaguely, noting the stoic expression of the female assassin as it skirted around key points of information.

"I have no idea how to interpret that, and I _will_ be asking again later." Agent Romanoff glanced down to the confused and disoriented human who lay on the ground, his glowing azure eyes roaming over the scene with a dazed effect. "Can you help the doctor? His condition is rapidly deteriorating."

The spirit gazed down at the befuddled human, confirming the SHIELD agent was correct in her assumption. It almost did not recognize him as the scientist, Dr. Selvig, from Loki's underground bunker. His azure eyes were red around the edges, the sockets of his eyes chafed and raw, as Barton's had been towards the end of his enslavement.

The severing of Loki's connections to the dark place had apparently done nothing for the other mind-thralls. Guilt flittered through its chest as it realized it could have – and should have – done more for the humans, and not just the Jotun-Asgardian.

"Selvig," the spirit named the dazed human, attempting to block his view of its mutilated right arm with the curve of its body.

The older human shifted his eyes upward with mild surprise and some confusion, before he smiled in a way that was not entirely cogent.

"Trinity! Have you come to partake in the splendor of the Cube? It's glorious, isn't it? So much beauty… We should be honored to even bask in its glow."

"Yes," the spirit responded evenly, pressing one knee against the rough rooftop as it lowered its body to his level. It glanced back at the agent, wordlessly indicating its readiness. She nodded, immediately understanding what the spirit wanted, and she also knelt next to the doctor.

Time was running short in regards to the gateway, but it suspected Selvig would defend the artifact if it attempted to interfere with the machinery. It needed to release him from the chains of the mind-jewel if it was to succeed in closing the portal – which it still had no plan how to do. Perhaps the scientist would know once his mind was his own.

"Just relax, Dr. Selvig. Your work is complete. You can rest now," the agent appeased, surprising warmth and sympathy in her voice.

"Oh. Good. I've been working so hard on the Tesseract… I would like to close my eyes, just for a moment…"

"Of course," Romanoff responded, nodding to the spirit once Dr. Selvig closed his crystallized eyes.

"My best work…" he mumbled softly, his haggard, roughened face going slack.

Taking a deep breath, it winced as its left palm was placed against his forehead, attempting to ignore the screaming in its shoulder. The spirit did not want to touch the human with its clawed hand, unintentionally maiming or frightening him while he was in this confused state.

Concentrating as much as possible with the sounds of alien screeches in the air and the seductive vibrations of the nearby artifact distractedly tantalizing, it mentally prodded for the energy of the orb hidden in his mind.

It could sense the energy easily enough, but it was deeply embedded in the human's psyche, much more so than it had been with Barton. It attempted to tug at the tendrils of energy, and it heard Selvig groan in distress from somewhere far away. It tugged again, and his harsh voice cried out in pain, Agent Romanoff yelling as she attempted to restrain his sudden movements.

_I am sorry_ , it silently apologized as it began to draw the energy forcefully, attempting to vacuum the vestiges of the mind-jewel's power from his consciousness. There was no time to delicately extract the influence. It had to be done as quickly as possible before the energy further embedded itself, like a creature which thrived in the dark, digging in its claws to prevent being dragged into the light.

It internally winced at the cries of distress as the bits of energy came loose, and it absorbed the tingling golden energy into its body, feeding its own depleted biological energy with life-sustaining power.

The spirit opened its eyes, and noticed immediately that the bone-rattling exhaustion was gone, and the pain from the shoulder and the back of its leg were muted.

Dr. Selvig seemed to fare even worse after the traumatic mental extraction. His eyes were no longer clouded with the crystallized signature of the mind-jewel, but they were glassy with malaise.

"What…?" he croaked, his eyes tracing the outlines of their faces unsteadily, as if he recognized nothing. Perhaps he did not.

"I am sorry," it apologized out loud, sweat beading its own forehead. "I took as much care as was permitted, but there may be some damage to his mind."

"Just another entry on the checklist to address after," the red-haired agent remarked, nodding her chin at the stream of uninhibited energy shooting into the sky. "Can you shut it off, Dr. Selvig?"

"I… I don't know," the doctor responded uncertainly, eyeing the machinery as if he found it only vaguely recognizable.

This was not encouraging to see, and their options were dwindling. The spirit rose to its feet and began to approach the machine, pausing when the male human protested. "It has an energy barrier surrounding it! You won't be able to get past!"

It focused its eyes towards the artifact housed in the machine, alluring and enticing with the energy radiating from its depths. Its physical senses tried to interpret its intricate outputs as a humming noise, a shimmer in the air, and an electrifying taste on its tongue. It could only have imagined what the object known as the Tesseract would have looked like through the lenses of a spirit's mind.

The artifact's pull was similar to the orb in the sceptre, yet they were distinct entities, as if they were two members of a similar species. That was the only comparison it could think of with the vocabulary it had of the human English language.

"The barrier – is it powered by the artifact?" it inquired while looking back towards Dr. Selvig, having to raise the volume of its voice over the energetic thrum coming from the machine and the howl of the wind.

"It is. Which is why it is impenetrable," the human scientist answered, his eyes trained on the spirit in a focused way that indicated he was noticing its changes for the first time.

"Would the sceptre be able to break through?" the agent inquired, steadying the doctor as he wobbly climbed to his feet.

"You could try, but I wouldn't recommend it. The last time the sceptre came into contact with the Tesseract…," he trailed off, his statement unfinished but self-evident as he stared at the spirit. It was discomforted with the way his bloodshot eyes peered too closely, and it did not care for the way his mouth hung open at the sight of its mutated arm, noticeable now as he viewed the spirit's form in its entirety.

"There may be another way," the scientist relented, almost too quietly for the spirit to hear. The agent, though, clearly heard his words, as she turned towards him with sharp eyes.

"Tell me."

"The Cube can possibly be removed… It's not being held in place by any physical mechanism. It's powering its own levitation, and shouldn't be difficult to pry loose."

"We just have to get through the barrier," Agent Romanoff finished, looking up at the humming machine with a troubled expression.

"Which is impossible. Although…" Dr. Selvig hesitated, and the agent turned back to him.

"What, doctor?"

"Removing the Cube while it's activated and connected to the machine could _also_ cause the portal to collapse again, creating a massive detonation that destroys half of Manhattan."

"That… could complicate things," the agent replied wearily, slightly tilting her head as she stared at the machine.

Unbeknownst to the humans, this actually simplified matters. They did not know the reason the portal had collapsed to begin with. It did. And if such a thing happened again, the collapsed force could be guided upwards to the expansive curve of the planetary atmosphere, able to expel its energy load without damaging the human city.

Of course, that was only if the spirit could retain some kind of control on the energy pouring from the shimmering artifact. It was no longer a being of incorporeal qualities, and it might very well perish under the strain of attempting to manipulate the gateway's source.

Turning from Selvig and Romanoff, who were distracted in their discussions of how to penetrate the barrier, the spirit placed its hand tentatively forward: the black, armored hand, just in case its hypothesis about the barrier was wrong, and the energy caused damage to its physical body. The dark scales had already proven to act as some kind of protective coating, able to withstand Loki's fiery attack as well as the cutting blades of his sceptre.

It knew when it had reached the barrier because a bluish sphere rippled into existence, sparking against its tapered claws, jolts of sharp, stinging energy vibrating down its scales into its shoulder. The burning sensation was a strange dance between the line of pleasure and pain, nerves tingling in a rush of sensations.

Attempting to steady its breathing, it pushed harder, and its armored hand passed through the barrier, the rest of its arm following smoothly as the circular barrier around the entire machine became fully visible, blue ripples dominating its surface.

Almost immediately, Romanoff shouted in alarm, and the spirit glanced back to the human, pausing with the sizzling barrier encircling its right shoulder.

"What are you doing, Frost?!" The agent stepped forward as the wind tousled the crimson locks which framed her face.

"What was promised," the spirit replied with surprising evenness, jaw set in determination as it turned to face the barrier again, placing its unchanged hand against its rippling surface. The same pleasant but sharp tingling traveled up its palm, almost too much to bear without the protection of its scaly hide. But it pushed through, until both arms were past the barrier. Squinting its eyes shut, it stepped all the way through.

It pressed its lips together to keep from crying out as the energy flooded over its skin and into its muscles and bones, spreading throughout every atom of its body. Just when it believed the sensation was going to rip it apart, it vanished. The electrifying force was gone, and it stood in front of the machine with its glittering artifact. It seemed to sit there, waiting patiently, freely floating between the metal prongs which harnessed and focused its unending power. Electrifying bolts of light drew jagged lines between the Tesseract and the surrounding metal, the upper portion of the cube almost lost to the stream being focused through the machine.

Looking back at Romanoff and Selvig, it saw the barrier had returned to its previous invisible state, the strange expressions on their faces unobstructed. The spirit was fulfilling its part of the bargain to the humans.

So… why did the humans stare at the spirit as if it were a source of potential danger? Why did they seem so apprehensive and disturbed by its actions?

_You know why_ , Loki would have whispered in its ear. It could almost hear the words of doubt in his low, smooth voice. _I did warn you, didn't I?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using the sceptre to shut down the portal is a little too easy. Let's spice it up, yeah?


	24. Transition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluidity in form, nebulous in thought.

“You’ve gone mad! Completely mad!” Dr. Selvig shouted with a tone more incredulous than it was accusatory. “You can’t hold the Tesseract with your bare… er, hands!” he exclaimed, glancing quickly at its clawed fingers as if it did not understand clearly enough what he had intended to say. “The energy flowing through the Cube – no one can survive that!”

“You could have mentioned that before she went inside,” the agent remarked in apparent irritation, glaring at the male before she approached a metallic case propped open on the graveled rooftop.

“I didn’t think she would make it past the barrier! Plus, it feels like someone took a jackhammer to my brain.” Romanoff’s expression softened the slightest, though she still appeared somewhat annoyed as she lifted a silver tool from the case. The object was comprised of two thin, metal pieces that joined in the middle, a handheld instrument meant for some unidentifiable task.

The spirit turned away from them and slowly knelt in front of the artifact, placing it at eye-level, glowing like a cubed version of the orb within the sceptre. It dreaded what would happen when it attempted to grab the shimmering object, and the numerous possibilities for disaster flashed through its mind.

Would it be able to overload the portal now that it had a physical form? Would it be able to contain the explosion if one should occur? Would its fleshy body be able to handle the raw power of the artifact? It had always been shielded from the naked energy of the mind-jewel by the casing of the orb, but this object felt much more exposed and unbridled as evident by the sparks jumping between it and the machine.

“We can close it. Can anybody copy? We can shut the portal down,” spoke Romanoff from behind, presumably in contact with her allies.

Its hands, one pale and delicate, the other dark and twisted, approached the artifact, when Romanoff shouted, “ _Wait!_ ”

The spirit paused, almost unable to turn away as the lure of the artifact sent thrills of temptation through its nerves. But it managed to retract its arms as it looked over its shoulder to the red-haired agent.

“Stark… he’s carrying a nuclear bomb. It’s set to go off in less than a minute. And if you grab the Tesseract like that, it will kill you,” Romanoff explained urgently, holding the tool she had acquired towards the edge of the invisible barrier. The protective sphere shimmered into the visible spectrum as the tips of the metal instrument sparked against its outer coating.

“My God,” Dr. Selvig remarked breathlessly, slowly sitting on the graveled rooftop with an expression of pure shock on his face. “A bomb?”

“The World Council must have ordered a nuclear strike,” the female agent explained, her eyes still on the spirit as she waited for it to take the tool from her hands.

“But there are millions of people here!” the doctor exclaimed. The spirit’s thoughts darkened as its previous mistrust of the humans curdled to the surface. Even after Loki’s pointed attempts to influence its perspective of the humans, it had never imagined they would have been capable of culling a portion of their own population in order to halt the invading forces.

“I’m well aware of that, Doctor,” Romanoff answered curtly, her expression also disturbed. “Stark’s going after it,” the agent added, her voice oddly even as her eyes looked carefully blank. She looked down at the spirit as it carefully pulled the metal instrument through the rippling barrier. “Hold these in your hand and squeeze the Tesseract between the tongs when I say.”

It gazed up at the female agent in a mixture of wonder and apprehension. The metal human was planning on eliminating the evil device of destruction? The anger in its chest quelled at the shameful realization that it had believed the humans would be apathetic and uncaring to the plight of their own people. Of course, they would do whatever they could to protect their metropolis, or what was left of it after the Chitauri had desecrated it.

The two humans and the spirit waited with eyes to the sky as they searched for sign of the Iron Man or the murderous device. They did not wait for long as the metalloid human suddenly rocketed past the edge of the tower, traveling upwards at a 90 degree angle as he aimed straight for the middle of the shimmering gateway, bracing the radiological weapon along his back.

To the spirit’s complete astonishment, he went through.

The humans did not speak, though the doctor pulled in a loud breath. They waited, but the metal human did not appear. Through the undulating portal it could see stars on the other side, and the occasional Chitauri flier as it descended on the smoking city. There was no change until a bright orange light flared in the distance.

“Do it,” Romanoff ordered with a soft finality, and it finally understood. The SHIELD agent had expected the possibility that the Iron Man would not return, offering his life in order to spare his people from oblivion.

Its previous distrust for the humans caused shame to heat its cheeks, but it also served to steel the spirit for what it must do, lest his sacrifice be in vain.

Pulling its focus away from the black portal to the tantalizing artifact, it reached forward to maneuver the metal handles around the artifact’s glowing sides.

Angry sparks traveled between the Tesseract and the metal implement, and it hissed in pain as one particularly large bolt struck the tool, sending it flying from its tingling fingers as it ricocheted throughout the enclosed sphere. The tool came to rest in front of its folded knees, warped and smoking from the energetic result of the Tesseract’s uncontrollable nature.

“Hold on, Frost! I’ll find another pair, just hold on!”

The spirit glanced over its shoulder as the agent began to frantically search for a replacement with which it could handle the artifact, and the doctor stared up in dreaded awe as the orange sphere of light began to grow within the dark pupil of the gateway.

There was no time remaining for a secondary plan to be formed. It had to do what was required and trust in itself. If this was where it perished, than at least it knew it had done all it could.

The spirit stared down at the levitating, rotating Tesseract, the artifact calling to something within that could not be named, singing to the soul encased within the barriers of skin and veins and muscle. The artifact smelled of the gaseous clouds of kaleidoscopic colors and tasted of the innumerable stars in the universe.

It felt like… home.

Thrusting its hands forward, it grasped the humming artifact, delicate fingers and black claws pressing against opposite sides of the cube.

It thought it heard screaming, but it was not sure – it was no longer encapsulated within its human trappings. Only… it was. But it was also racing along the stream of the cerulean energy, joyful and exuberant and so completely _free_.

The spirit danced along the waves of energy, thrilling in its silent voice as it slammed into the portal, disrupting the stream and circling around the edges as it prepared to seal the open wound between the folds of space.

It noted a curious development – a falling figure from the dimension beyond, drawn towards the gravity on the planetary side of the portal. It watched while vibrating with fascination, faintly recalling another helpless being drifting in the cold of space. It was odd, so many creatures finding themselves falling through the darkness inhospitable to the living.

The spirit waited for the red and gold metallic humanoid to fall across the edges of the gateway before it pulled the seam closed, repairing the hole that should not have been, threading the folds of the universe back on themselves and sealing it shut with a satisfied thrumming vibration.

Once this task was completed, the spirit could not quite remember what it was supposed to do next. In its uncertainty, its fickle attention was distracted by the city below, drawn to the radiance which had been hidden by its previously limited vision.

The glory of the metropolis was exposed and shimmered in a fantastical array of hues and wavelengths. The rectangular obelisks which reached towards the sky reflected crystallized prisms from their glass portions. The rooftops rippled in a variegated array of infrared energy, and even the plumes of smoke from the destruction offered a mesmerizing array of molecular excitement.

But the lanes between the human structures… they were not filled with color, or light, or alluring energy. They were covered in a dark grey and lifeless black fog, filled with the terror and despair and lost hope of the populace. The spirit knew the source of that shroud, as did all who had passed on from one form of life or another.

Therein lies Death.

The spirit’s incorporeal form shivered, but it did not have long to linger on the darkness that marred the city. Something was pulling it back, growing stronger despite its attempts to ignore the irritating sensation. But it could not be avoided because it was also holding the Tesseract, screaming as fiery blue energy rushed over its skin, its left hand now molding into a black, armored gauntlet, and that was not supposed to be.

How was it here, floating above the human metropolis, and also kneeling with the artifact, and also watching the gargantuan Chitauri space vessel as a widening circle of fire consumed everything in its path?

It was not fragments of a whole – it was whole but occupying multiple fragments of space. Too many conflicting images and sensations crashed into its senses, and it cried in terror as the unholy planetoid of fire washed over the spirit.

It was dying, it was burning, it was-

-kneeling on the surface of a dead planet. Black sand and chilling winds tossing its hair about its face, green skies casting everything in a sickly hue.

-standing on a white, stone outcropping, the skyline imprinted with the silhouette of a golden fortress as gilded vessels flew overhead.

-perched above an emerald and cerulean forest of massive vegetation, cradled inside of an isolated valley surrounded by an endless ocean of white sand.

“Frost! Frost! _Trinity_!”

Its eyes snapped open as it rocked backwards, its other selves abruptly smashing together as it was pulled back to its singular body. Widened eyes darted around its surrounds to recognize where it was – sitting on a pebbly rooftop, its black claws trembling as its eyes looked to the voice who was calling its name, hard breathing at remembered agony of the atomic fire ripping its atoms apart.

“Frost?”

The spirit had returned to its incorporeal form for a brief moment, only to be thrust back into its human body. Disorienting and confusing images of what it had experienced vied for attention in its mind.

What of the foreign, differentiated landscapes it had been transported to? Where had it gone? It had only wished to close the portal, and yet, it had clearly done more than that. The Tesseract… what had it done?

It flexed its talons automatically, but the stone was no longer within its grasp. For it had been a stone, just like the mind-jewel. Different, but of the same ilk. And so powerful. Deliciously powerful. Dangerously powerful.

Its claws continued to tremble, but not from fear or exhaustion. It _hungered_ for the artifact. It craved the energy which had flooded its senses, and the yearning went far deeper than mere physical need. There was something addicting about the raw power it had held in its hands, and it itched to feel the energy once more.

The humans could not have the stones. No one could have them. They were too-

“Frost? Can you hear me?”

The agent’s question interrupted its erratic thought process, its disturbing desires momentarily quieted as its vision widened to take the other occupants of its surroundings.

The female agent was in a kneeling position next to the spirit, her emerald eyes peering intently into its face. Dr. Selvig was also nearby, a pair of metal tongs in his hands, the glow and luring song of the Tesseract muffled as he closed the metallic case which now housed the stone.

With the blazing power of the Tesseract somewhat dampened and out of its reach, the spirit was able to think and articulate again. It licked its parched lips and focused its eyes on Agent Romanoff’s face, attempting to anchor its thoughts back to reality.

“The portal. What happened? Is it-“

“Gone,” the red-haired agent replied, giving a small, tensed smile. Despite the relieved expression on her face, the spirit did not neglect to notice her hand grasped firmly on its shoulder, just above where the line of pointed scales had ceased their growth.

“And the Iron Man?” it inquired even as it knew the answer. The spirit needed to hear it from another, that the whole strange event had not been imagined. Of being both in its body, and outside of it, and also across time and space to unknown parts of the universe.

“He made it back – just after you removed the Tesseract from the machine. Dr. Banner caught him in midair. Kinda wish I’d been there to see it.”

The spirit noted her tone of light humor, but could not reciprocate the attitude of relief. The agent seemed unaware of what had fully happened to the spirit. It was still shaken by the unexplainable event, as well as its unsettling lust for the artifacts which was only now beginning to quell.

Out of the corner of its eye, it noticed the way Dr. Selvig stared in its direction. When it turned its head to look at him, he poorly attempted to smile as if nothing were amiss.

“We’re good up here, might need a lift though. Stark’s landing pad is currently unusable,” Romanoff responded to the words coming through her communication device. “I’ll be right down.”

The spirit watched her as she approached, pulling something from a pouch around her waist.

“I’m sorry,” the agent apologized, holding a pair of very thin metallic threads in her hands. “I have to temporarily restrain you.”

The disappointment must have been obvious on its face, because she added, “It’s SHIELD procedure. Nothing personal.”

It did not move or speak, and she took this as a sign of compliance, because she approached with the metal bonds, hesitating when she realized they would not fit around its armored wrists. The spirit watched silently as the agent linked one of its booted ankles to the now-lifeless shell of the portal stabilizer, cinching the bond tightly.

“Someone will be up to take you both into custody for debriefing.”

“Where are you going?” the doctor voiced in alarm as the agent picked up the briefcase containing the cube-which-was-not.

It could sympathize with the male not wanting to be left alone with a non-human who had beastly appendages. But what did the doctor think it would do? It was exhausted, thirsty, apparently hungry again, and surrounded by strange beings in an equally strange world.

Where would it flee?

“Unfinished business,” she replied smoothly, though the way her eyes flickered quickly away from the spirit told it clearly enough where she was going.

Once they were alone after Romanoff had descended the ladder, Dr. Selvig smiled awkwardly and appeared to simultaneously place distance between him and the spirit while trying not to give offense. It only sat in silence, gazing out at the columns of smoke and the collapsed stone structures. It would take time for the humans to repair and rebuild.

They would not be kind to the being they thought responsible for this. It had spared Loki from one form of enslavement only for him to land in another.

And it realized, with a sinking sensation in its stomach, that its own future might be as tenuous as Loki’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be posting the epilogue tomorrow as this chapter felt too long with it attached. Important information will be revealed, so I hope it will be worth the wait!
> 
> In the meantime, I have begun a playlist that showcases music for certain scenes or characters (music is so important to me while I write – it’s actually a requirement). I’ll give the song names here, but you can always search for “Wolveria” on YouTube and the playlist will be on my channel. It has only two songs right now, but the list will be extended as I publish more content.
> 
> These songs exemplify Loki and Trinity’s themes throughout Madness of the Serpent, especially towards the end.
> 
> Loki’s song: “Bliss” by Muse  
> Trinity’s song: “Taking Over Me” by Evanescence


	25. Epilogue

**Location: [redacted]**

The Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division stared through the one-way observation mirror at the young woman on the other side. His singular eye watched her intently, his eyebrow creased as if his thoughts unsettled him – which they often did.

Nick Fury did not turn when the door behind him slid open, and Agent Hill strode confidently into the room to stand beside him, crossing her arms as she also stared at the prisoner contained within.

After several seconds of drawn-out silence in which Fury seemed to be too deeply buried in his thoughts to speak, Hill remarked, “Three puzzles left behind by the mad Asgardian, and I’m not sure which one is the weirdest.”

“Hmm.” The Director slowly came out of his reverie. “Toss-up. Has the medical team finished their initial analysis?”

“They have,” Hill answered, handing him a manila envelope with a SHIELD emblem and the words **LEVEL EIGHT ACCESS ONLY** written in bold type across the face. Fury took the envelope without looking, and opened it while his single, intense eye stared at the woman beyond the glass.

The Director finally glanced down at the sheets of papers in his hand, followed by a spectrometer analysis, several X-ray copies, and a lengthy, complicated DNA analysis profile.

“Give me the Cliffs Notes’ version,” he commanded gruffly, staring with interest at the composite material analysis chart.

“Well… her scales are unlike any material on Earth, though they are confirmed to be biological and carbon-based. Similar in texture and composition of a reptile’s scale, but the molecular structure is far more complicated than anything the team has ever seen – though none of them are exactly zoologists.”

“Bring some of those in, we’ll need them,” the man instructed, though he still appeared distracted.

“…sir?” Hill prodded, intimately familiar with that offhand tone of voice which meant the Director was actively dissecting an enigma in his head.

“I want to know more about how she was able to hold on to the Tesseract without going up like tinder, and how she managed to play Loki for the fool with his own staff.”

“We… aren’t sure yet. But… you may want to see this,” Hill added, pulling out a particular sheet of paper from the thick stack in Fury’s hand, placing it on top. It showed a headshot of the woman, as well as a brief biography, places of education, and any notable affiliations. It also had an additional entry that was so odd it caused the Director to do a double-take.

“You’ve found her,” the Director stated, pulling the certificate closer as he peered at it. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yes it is, sir.”

“Trinity Frost” had been born Sakura Tsukino on July 1st, 1985 and her last place of residence was in Sacramento, California. What was unusual was the additional date underneath.

It was an estimated Date of Death. And it was only four days previous to the current date, right around the time when the Tesseract was activated and Loki had stepped through the original portal to wreak havoc on the Joint Dark Energy Mission Facility.

Despite the bizarre nature of the information, it went a long way towards explaining why they could not find the woman’s identity despite having the largest information gathering system in the world. None of that had been worth a damn because they had been searching the living, not the dead.

“Missing and presumed dead by drowning? You verified this?”

“Tsukino slipped and fell from a boat she and her friends had rented on Lake Tahoe. Her body is still missing, and the County Coroner signed the Death Certificate in absentia.”

“It’s a lake. How do you lose a body in a lake?”

“Apparently it’s a really big lake.” Fury gave her an intense look that was his way of sifting through bullshit. “Agent Sitwell confirmed that the body was never recovered,” Agent Hill continued, ignoring his vexing look. “Though the county sheriff Search and Rescue personnel said they saw something strange in the water-”

Director Fury appeared to no longer be listening as he began shuffling through the papers again, setting them down on the table as he searched through them quickly. It was highly inconvenient to keep paper records instead of an electronic format, but it was even more inconvenient for the information to be stolen by various hacker groups.

The Director soon found the one he wanted.

Agent Barton had been very thorough in his initial debriefing, as well as his follow-up report which documented every moment he had been under Loki’s compulsion – everything from the classified information the mad god had forced him to reveal, to mannerisms and habits that could give some insight into why he wanted the Tesseract. From the information gathered thus far, it was possible that the Asgardian had not been the top predator on the food chain.

His single eye narrowed in examination as he quickly skimmed the typed words, bracing his weight against the table.

“I’ll be damned.”

“What is it, sir?”

“Tell me – the strange thing the SAR employees witnessed. Was it a flash of blue light in the water?”

“How did you-“

“From what we have witnessed in the last few days, the Tesseract isn’t just an endless source of energy – it can instantly transport matter across vast quantities of space. Correct?”

“Correct,” the agent slowly nodded, wondering where the Director was headed with this line of thought. “With you so far.”

“And look at Agent Barton’s report. Immediately after this woman’s “birth”, she coughed up copious amounts of water.”

“As if she had been drowning…”

“Or had already drowned,” the Director finished, one troubled eye fixated on his second-in-command.

Agent Hill furrowed her brows, unable to keep up with the rapid-fire connections the Director was making with the pieces of information presented. Or rather, she didn’t want to put the pieces together, as the implications were too disturbing.

“’I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.’”

Agent Hill gave him a skeptical look. “The Bible?”

“The Gospel of John. It seems we have a genuine miracle on our hands.”

Hill glanced at him sharply – they both knew bringing someone back from the dead was not as impossible a task as it sounded.

“But… how? What _is_ she?” Hill asked, still looking dubious and more than a little troubled as she indicated the strange woman on the other side of the glass.

“I don’t know the what, but I think I know the _how_. Barton stated Loki created her in some kind of mad experiment with the sceptre and Tesseract. But… what if we’ve been looking at this all wrong?”

The Director watched her closely with his singular eye, pausing as if for dramatic effect as he revealed his final conclusion.

“I think Tsukino’s corpse was _transported_ from the lake using the Tesseract, and the sceptre was used to put an alien entity into the now-empty vessel.”

“Sir… that’s…”

“Crazy?”

“I was going to say complicated.”

“Complicated happens when an insane god has powerful toys,” Fury answered with a creased eyebrow. “Barton stated that Loki had claimed he had summoned some kind of ‘celestial spirit’. Who knows? Maybe he did.” The Director paused as he crossed his arms over his chest, fixing his singular eye on the woman, causing Agent Hill to also look in that direction. “Even Dr. Selvig says he doesn’t understand what the Asgardian instructed him to do or how to replicate it. The equations were nonsensical to him, and Loki refused to say a word before Thor took him back to Asgard. Thor wasn’t much help either – said the equations weren’t of Asgardian origin, but I can’t help but think Thor isn’t exactly a quantum physics mathematician.”

“Still… it does make a sort of sense,” Agent Hill added, looking through the observation window at the still form of the girl as she sat cross-legged on the bed. “A recently drowned body would have sustained minimal damage and could be revived. It would have been a conveniently empty host for an alien consciousness.”

“So we’re looking at an “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” type scenario, only with corpses. As if I didn’t have enough paperwork with one alien invader,” the Director remarked with a wry smile that lacked any kind of humor.

“Technically, the aliens duplicated the bodies of those they wanted to supplant.”

“What?” Fury asked, glaring sideways at the agent.

“Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Sir.”

“The point, Agent Hill, is the body of a human being has been invaded by an extraterrestrial consciousness.” The agent nodded and did not respond verbally, knowing full well that Fury was not amused with her in-depth knowledge of science fiction/horror movie trivia.

“That still doesn’t answer the question of how she could handle the alien artifacts, and why it caused those reptilian aspects to manifest. There is no record of Tsukino being a mutant or an Enhanced, is there?”

“No sir, and there were no markers for altered DNA or the X-gene.”

“So… the question now remains, Agent Hill, who – or what – now resides inside of that body?” the Director inquired as he turned his singular eye on Agent Hill. The woman slightly tilted her head, her arms remaining crossed as she gave her superior a wry smile.

“I take it Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S. is to be re-activated?”

The Director fixed his dark gaze on his most trusted agent and returned the dry expression.

“Keep it small and tight. No NASA, no DARPA, no outside agency of any kind. This is strictly in-house and off-books. Vetted personnel only.”

“Yes sir,” Agent Hill responded curtly, giving Fury a crisp nod before turning on her heels and exiting the room, a finger pressed to her ear as she began to carry out the Director’s instructions.

Fury turned back to the prisoner and his hardened expression relaxed the smallest amount, his tone almost regretful in its gentleness.

“I wish there was another option, but you’ve left me in a difficult position… whoever you are.”

The Director carefully re-stacked the loose sheaves of paper and placed them back in the envelope, tucking the parcel into his jacket. Without a backwards glance, he turned off the lights and left the room.

There was work to be done.

 

* * *

 

 

The soft, flimsy cloth coverings on its feet allowed it to pace soundlessly in its perfectly square cell, unable to escape from the bright lights shining from the ceiling.

Grey walls and grey ceiling and grey blankets and metal furniture. It had been assured this was not a punishment, but as protection from some vague danger with equally vague platitudes.

“We must run tests to be sure you weren’t permanently harmed…”

“We are going to take a few samples…”

“Please remain still during the imaging process. I promise it will be painless…”

The fact remained that it was not free to leave, and it did not know what was happening outside of its confinement. It did not know what had happened to Loki, or what they had planned for the imprisoned spirit.

It did not even know its location, as it had been removed from the Helicarrier soon after it had arrived, transported by Quinjet to another facility where the humans had proceeded to examine it to an uncomfortable degree.

After Agent Romanoff departed from the rooftop, the forgotten wound in its shoulder had begun to make its presence remembered. But when it had looked at the wound, it had looked different. No longer bleeding, it was scabbed over and appeared to be well on its way to healing, and the humans who had checked it over for injury had found they could do nothing that its body was not already achieving.

The greatest relief came when its gnarled, armored arms and hands had slowly reverted to what it believed was “normal”, leaving its skin whole and smooth and unmarked, fingernails blunted and harmless with palms smooth and soft.

Unfortunately, this was not before the humans had decided to take several samples of its armor, sawing off pieces of hardened scales with electrical, buzzing tools. The procedures had been painless but uncomfortable, and it did not like the way the humans would only approach it wearing bulky, protective suits. Nor the way it had been restrained and attached to various machinery, even long after its scales and tapered claws had faded away, its human features returning.

It paused in its pacing and returned to the small, square mirror above its sink, checking for the seventh time that hour that its face had not changed, and its skin was as smooth and defenseless as before. That there was no hardening or roughening, no black scales or sharp points. Nothing out of the ordinary. Even its previous facial wound had been reduced to nothing but a shadow and a soft pink line across its cheek bone, though there was a new shadow across its neck to match the width of the sceptre’s handle.

Staring into its own still-unfamiliar eyes, it was reminded of the way Loki had glared when they had briefly crossed paths in the aftermath of the battle. Unable to be transported by air vessel since the tower’s landing pad had been cut in half (and from their pointed expressions, the agents knew how it came to be in that condition), Loki’s brother had transported the spirit from the tower to the Helicarrier which hovered above the ocean near the human metropolis. The spirit had clung to him in trepidation as he had leapt from the roof, one hand stretched outward holding the massive hammer as the other held it tight, and its alarm had transformed into unexpected joy.

The brief elation it had experienced from the flight was cut short when the Asgardian landed on the flying base and it saw Loki’s cold expression as he was pulled from the ramp of a nearby Quinjet. The shield-warrior, battered from the effects of war, held him by the arm. The Jotun-Asgardian had glared between his brother and the spirit with eyes the color of ice, a tight, unhappy frown upon his face.

The feelings of bliss from flying through the air had been wiped away at the sight of his expression, as well as the chains around his wrists and ankles.

When it had attempted to approach Loki, a heavy hand clamped over its unwounded shoulder, fingers as hard as steel preventing it from moving further.

It had turned to the yellow-haired Asgardian and pleaded with him, begged even, to understand that Loki had been under the dark influence of a monster. Its words, for all their sincerity, seemed to fall on deaf ears as Thor walked away – standing next to his brother as he roughly grabbed his other arm. It remembered the way Loki’s piercing eyes had stared at the spirit in an accusatory manner, his expression hard as his brother pulled him forward, escorting him into the Helicarrier.

Its own movements were restrained by the several heavily-armored SHIELD agents who blocked its path, and it could not ignore how the humans stared at its blackened scaly arms and hands. As well-trained and disciplined as they were, they did not bother to hide the disgust and aversion they apparently felt towards its mutated skin.

It had felt a pang in its chest at Loki’s glare, not understanding the source of his expression. What had caused him to give the spirit that hostile glare? Something had fundamentally changed between this moment and when he had previously touched its torn shoulder, his eyes worried and gentle.

The spirit did not know what had happened to the Jotun-Asgardian, but it would. And it would find a way out of this captivity. It had grown weary of being a constant prisoner. Every moment spent in this fleshy entombment had been confining enough – now it could not go beyond the grey walls and bask in the glow of this system’s star, or smell the air of the planet’s atmosphere, or feel the raw soil under its feet. It had barely seen the planet it was imprisoned upon, and never under its own willpower.

It set its jaw and stared into the mirror, fixing its dark eyes on its own reflection as it made a solemn vow.

No matter how long and no matter the effort, it… no, _she_ would find Loki again. She had made a promise, unspoken but implicit, to hold his safety and well-being prominently in her thoughts.

This goal, once formed in the spirit’s mind, was a source of relief. If she was focused on seeking out and protecting the Jotun-Asgardian, she would not have to face the question that every sentient being eventually had to answer.

_Who am I?_

 

* * *

 

Across the multi-dimensional universe, past swirling galaxies and gaseous nebulas, through the whirlpools of black emptiness, beyond the branches of everlasting Yggdrasil to the Realm Eternal watched a single sentry with eyes of luminous amber, fixed on one particular being who had garnered his attention for some time now.

His lips parted and a deep, baritone voice uttered a single word:

“Intriguing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus concludes Madness of the Serpent! Trinity and Loki will return for Trial of the Dragon. Thank you for sticking with me until the end and for trusting me on this wild ride.
> 
> Now for some wordiness by the author:
> 
> If you’re worried everything will be wonderful and blissful between Trinity and Loki, don’t be. Conflict will be a defining feature of their relationship, mostly because Loki is a complicated cat. As he’s stated before, satisfaction is not in his nature. If he was presented with the opportunity to experience real happiness, I don’t think he would know what to do. My poor little Trin is going to have a rough time, that’s for sure.
> 
> I hope I was able to effectively explain how the Mind and Space Stones were used to “create” Trinity. Her “spiritual” origins are going to be revealed very gradually over the entire course of the series. I love your guesses so far, but I won’t give away anything yet!
> 
> The Dragon and the Serpent stories will mostly be told from Trinity and Loki’s POV, so I hope that is something you find interesting (or at the very least, not too irritating). I haven’t mentioned any sort of romantic intentions on purpose, as I’m unsure whether readers want that kind of thing spoiled. As you can probably tell, I enjoy mystery and surprise.
> 
> I’m in the process of moving across several states at the moment, so Part Two may not appear for a while. It will cover the events of Thor: The Dark World. Not much will change from the ending of the movie, but how we arrive there will be a bit different (and include many scenes I wish had been in the movie).
> 
> If my AU versions of the movies with Trinity inserted are annoying, then I hope you stick around for Part Three which will be free-form Trinity/Loki fun (and show the consequences of Loki’s reign in Asgard). Plenty of Avengers interactions will also be provided.
> 
> Part Four and Five are just outlines right now, and they will be my version of Ragnarok and the Infinity War. I realize this is overly ambitious and will either be an incredible journey or everything will go up in flames. Possibly a bit of both.
> 
> Things to come: Possible Star Wars fanfic. Also a fun little fic on what would have happened if Loki had escaped after losing the Battle of New York. Is that something y'all would be interested in reading? Warning: It would be filled with sexiness.
> 
> Lastly, I cannot thank you enough for reading Madness of the Serpent. And thank you so much to my beta reader, Tigh, for catching everything my brain glosses over even after five re-reads. If you ever want to reach me, my Tumblr username is Wolveria. I hope my writing has begun to improve as this is the first full-fledged story I’ve ever finished. I absolutely love writing Trinity and Loki, but knowing others found it entertaining gives me more happiness than I can describe.
> 
> Until we meet again.
> 
> ~Laura~


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